With my wind I have fallen in
With little tufts of grass
Whom stand so brave and tall
Against the snow, so cold.
I have blown across the whitescape
As light shades of brown
As dirt and ice that rip apart
The crisp memory of sun.
So goes the traces of my finger
Deep within the hallow
Sunken to my melting cheek bone
That grips against the snow.
So goes the sweet angel of my memory
Who has left me like a broken fire
That I have no more kindling for
Though I remember every splinter
That has sunken to my soul.
Tag: splinter
Pieces (day 2932)
Do you care if my soul comes in pieces?
A string attached to spine
Rolling around in a messy wash
Of leftover nails and splinters
Gathered here in my left hand
From a botched carpentry project.
I shot straight,
I climbed high,
I read the books on ethics,
And there beyond my grasp was hidden
A melodramatic stretch of time
That scratched itself
Over dusty chalkboards
And caught again my web
String attached to spine.
Anarchy and His Brothers (day 1387)
With Israel and his son Concordia,
The Conquistadors contemplated anarchy;
“No!” Yelled the city streets
Against windows of innocent glassy puddles.
And thus the lost voice: Arbritage.
So from inside the ancient gold plated doors
Swashbucklers leaned on their pole called history,
Singing songs that rolled off tongues
Like français of an unbroken heart.
The two shook their secret handshake,
Clasped each a moon of waxing gibbous
Deep within their full hearts of innocent desire,
Coughing on fumes leftover from the army
Who had rolled through these streets
To a machine named destruction.
So who was left crying?
Not the lost brothers, silently creeping along
Dead back streets, poorly lit.
No, not the dead brothers waving rebel flags.
Not the flowers, forever resilient
To tumult and it’s darkness.
No, it was the stone covered city
And it’s sister: splinters.
Pure Intentions (day 729)
I’m a walking cause
A symptom without diagnosis
An affliction
An avoidable situation
I’ve got a heartbeat
Pure intentions
A rambling rose
With nobody to hold
I’ve got a tender touch
Late at night by campfire light
Life in burning eyes
With splinter clutches
I’m a justification
A resolution
Breaking the good/bad
Souring the miscomfort
I’ve got footsteps
Leading away from me
Large strides and
Slight pigeon toed prints
I’m a walking cause
A symptom without diagnosis
An affliction
An avoidable situation