Revolutionary Blood

My revolution has taken its toll
On jagged edges of my soul;
I’ve dawned gloves,
Sawn carefully,
Yet each gold line
I’ve carefully drawn out
– Tracing a route
For my skilled cut –
Has left an array
Of scraps and debris
That keeps slicing
Each fiber I live by,
So that each step I take
A trail of blood
Follows me
Ending at this precipice
My revolution has brought me to.

Fever

When you look at me
Like I’m growing thin
Edges of my sloping chin
I walk amidst my fever ghosts
Lost, dark as night.
I feel the crown
Upon my heart
Fuse into my spine
That never woke
A fevered breath
That sounded hoarse as dust.
For when the game
Of morning light
Awakens this lost night
I will address
My dying breath
So delicate an embrace.

Trinkets and Lace

My view is distorted by lace and flowers
That have begun to wilt and burn
But the lace remains timelessly
Arched upon the bow
That keeps the clouds, so heavily
From my memory
And takes me back to a house I knew
Down Coppers Lane, remains.
I still smell the ancient windowsills
So beautifully exposed cedar wood
Grains like driftwood at the shore.
This pleasure reminds me
How much needed it is
To carry trinkets for the river.

Inner Heart

Cold pangs of my inner heart
Have wildly swung amidst this wind
Clanging loudly against
Metallic edges of home
Where doors have been hung.

To aid my truth voice
In a song of no-mans-land,
I’ve wrapped my steel blades
In a leather sheath
To keep my quivering hand
From starting in a blur.

But pangs in message
– A lonesome call beyond forest’s wild –
Share what can never be drafted,
For a dove doth always take flight
Though eye’s embrace
Captures feverishly each beating wing
Against late mornings glow.

There doth echo
Memory once laid
And dreams yet played
For in a forgotten breath
A clang, a pang,
A caress of death
Deeply embraced
Amidst this inner heart.

Breathing Grand

It has been hard to admit
That my words have lost meaning.
Even the breath
That inhales to explain
Where my full self has departed to
Has lost its strength;
Faintly attached
With two softly drawn cords
Like a spider web
In early morning dew
(Too delicate and lost
To be trecherous and hard),
Whispers inside myself
Have fallen down.
This weakness has touched my message
– Ice crumbling at the brink of water –
So much so that my eyes
Are no longer opening
With meaning and fury
For they have bid me adieu
While rainwater is expected
To stain this grand scheme.

My Name (day 3209)

Don’t ask my name anymore
It hurts me too much in my soul
My feet have begun to blister
And my eyes don’t like to open.
What day has taken my mind
Lost amidst the wind
For clouds have come and woven their way
Amidst the mustard seed sour.
Chaos and slumber collide into
A lackluster whimsical spree
Growth no longer on my mind
Spared and distant forsooth.

Resting (day 3207)

This is the feeling of broken again
The one that rest inside
And cannot find words to share
Because the words that come
Are accusations
Frustrations
Words that will take us nowhere
A fight I no longer have the breath
To take an inhale for.
So I will close my eyes
And rest my deepest rest
So that I can find within
The soul that needs to rise
From the broken pieces
Resting.

Whisper (day 3206)

Whisper-by-Ned-Tobin

This hurts and I’m not sure
And I don’t want to guess anymore.
So I clap both my hands
To suggest who I am.

Not for a way,
Not for a guess,
Not for a little bit,
Not for the end.

And I whisper
Into the death of my vision
So I may not know
The next steps to be taken
With wind in my face
And a slump, lacking all grace.

Rotting Extinction (day 3170)

There were no more ways for the buffalo to roam
Fences stopped their grazing and wild land migration
Farmers began to cultivate their food with chemicals
And soon they became desired by man for their very skin
That kept them warm through the winter
Leaving the only thing they couldn’t be robbed of
Their soul, their wild and herd driven soul
Alone, rotting on the fields forever.