It is only a thought…
but nothing is more powerful.
This sigh rides on notions
yet to be expressed,
ideas which may never
extend beyond my surface.
I wear this face
sometimes with shadows,
but mostly in the light
because I am too old for masks.
None seem to fit very well,
and my currency is too valuable.
There is no sleeve.
I only wear pores,
and they tend to breathe out loud.
If you feel what you do not hear,
you are a great listener.
Greatness often stops there.
While these concepts dance
around my heart,
shaping its comforts and anxieties,
my knowing grays.
I’ve compromised reality with
my internal experience.
For decades, I’ve tried,
and I predict for decades more,
to seize this assumptive power
so impassionedly lit by my
innate prowess in calculation.
With genius, sums emerge without parts.
I am brilliant, I tell you!
A creative mastermind of what-if…
I bet… no doubt… and why ask…
this sage of life’s prescripts
does not require outside input.
Out there is the air where deception breeds.
In here, I am safe.
The drawbridge is aptly manned.
My secrets and yours are hidden,
innocently composed in speculation,
where we both can rest easy…
until thoughts seep beyond my surface.
Breaths drawn strain through constricting reeds;
inhales ache and exhales bleed the unknown.
I become savior, martyr, motivation and devastation
all in one.
He severs the hand of Yah
while reaching for the serpent’s tail,
introducing me to the addict’s living hell.
Life and death weighted
falsely on my shoulders…
a broken heart’s boulder to carry ‘til the end.
Beats of hope in the void,
now his target practice,
are too wounded to pulse for two anymore.
Hours on end of loving him are
sacrificed in blind devotion to the
deception and desperation of his demons.
Sights solely on the spawns of their semen;
he’s chopping down trees of life for no reason.
Truth sprouts open pores which whisper,
if you maintain.
his creatures are manic and wild,
but it is I who is insane;
holding hands with the universe pulling in vain
to rescue man from adolescence when the
nightmare is his preference.
Chasing unforgiving darkness into a world
hopeless and loveless;
he watches every tear fall pointless
from my shattered olive branch.
Cold winter chill blows hard into my fading garden,
and warmth escapes my nature without pardon.
What is this fatal blow?
Why was this for me to know?
I was not created for this death,
nor prepared for such a loss.
Must this be the cost?
Oh God, the burning in my core,
a pain I’ll feel forevermore,
how will I bear the letting go…
the deepest mourning of my soul
miniscule insipid mouse
softly wrapped bundle
awaiting the feeding…
by life’s serpent
running about unheeded
heaven is still as
earth spins about my whiskers
none of it is real
all of it is real
none of it matters
scatter your daggers
retract your venomous
leave me to
clouds of abandon
notions of righteousness
a delusion of recovery…
in preparation for
your next feeding