We sometimes want what will not help…
We seek the lights that will melt our hands
Fingers stretching to touch the gold;
Grasping flames not meant to hold…
We sometimes trust what is always wrong…
Freeing floods deeper than our souls,
Lamenting as we cannot float
Cries for mercy cut off by mill-stones
We trap ourselves then weep for home.
Not even sunlight can banish the storms
The tempest that turns all it touches to what I abhor
Tributes of gold that flow from the trees;
Touching the sky to flame, to beauty
Nevertheless, my eyes protest
I do not see light. I do not see grace
A simple drive and what do I find?
Woman and child, together outside
God, they’re in agony!
Holding what’s left, someone’s final breaths
They weep, clad in flesh…
A blink and a jolt, I shudder
This is not a vigil.
Just chores. Elbows deep in a bag of mulch.
Whoa, what bitterness is this
Whose twisted thoughts have I trekked in?
Surely this darkness isn’t mine,
This want for aching, wasted time
Someday I’ll be solid, healed
Someday the nightmares won’t be there to steal
If the nights are silent, the days reveal
Endless screaming from the ones repealed
Some time night and day alike
Will toss their haunting-juggling storms
And all the worry and fear I despise
How hard is it to mend
A mind once bent and
Torn? Is it possible to sew
Each neural fabric, a mental
My mouth no longer allows a plea
A few eyes are all that’s left of me
Deathly primary shock, the ending freeze
Exquisite numbness is what will finish things.
Make someone a murderer. Distance yourself.
Each person ignores the ones they could help.
Dear one, knock!
Enter if you will.
Anybody sent by God
Does naught but bear goodwill.
How pleasant a task,
Every prisoner asks
“Let me go free! Absolved of all things!”
Poisoner or poisonee… we all need
I am not a belonger in this place
I cannot imagine a berth in such space
My heart twists and yearns, the greediness turns
But nobody knows better than I-
This place was not meant for my mind-
I do not belong, I should continue to roam
I know this Feeling is not my home.
Emotions are fickle, they twist and they whine
They scratch at our faces and weep from our eyes
I know not to trust them, I know they are false
Like the hearth of this Emotion will never be a HOUSE.
I do not I do not I do not
If they call this a home, I will
Leave this sand for the stone.
Who doesn’t, won’t, and wants to be
Could I, would we, sweet disease
Want a new dollar, a shiny time-piece?
Me and my people can never be free.
As I sit still and the dripping-day starts
I cannot see past the daylight’s bright heart.
Am I a fool, or just on my own?
?Will you come to free me or leave me in stone?