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.

Lost River (day 3144)

For what should not
Like the greens in Spring
Vines creeping
Up the sides of your leg
Moss involved in lineage.

Memory was lost
With blue-black baskets
That bobbed unevenly
About hands of ancient grain
Settling into the hallows.

And River flowed
With anonymous voices
That reached the trees
And clouds, boulders, and lichen,
And touched the lips
Of each those lost.

Blinded Worship (day 3132)

Worship at the state of alter
For each breath reconciles
Lost wages at the gates of infirm.
And at dawn,
Ghosts shall bowl their syrup
Onto lawns of placid velvet
That feel unusually comfortable
In the absence of relativity.
Here it shall be
That gates no longer shine
For eyes used to the dark;
The gates have blinded

Whisper Call (day 3129)

Don’t go calling on a whisper,
Worn out in an icebox
Left behind with gravel
Torn bits of a working past.
Don’t leave it there
For it will fade until forgotten
And cease to mean
What it once meant to be.
Its function will go away,
And its form and vigor
Will become used car sales lots
At the dodgy end of town.
For there is no good come
Of a screw head stripped of groove,
Nor a dollar bill
Faded to dust.

Pious People (day 3113)

Oh, let the pious people be
Let them be
They can carry the song
Let me free
And in the information rich
I shall love the respite
I shall crawl away
And gain the ground
I’ve never seen
For in the end
And underneath
A crawling seasoned spire
Shall carry on
As the last song
Dragon singing long.

Nigh (day 3108)

Forgive me
If it is not in my name
I cannot blame the moon
Nor can I blame the season
I cannot source my troubles
From elsewhere in the land
For I am me, this being,
Standing and worn
And it is I
Who hath lost all
That receives me
Into my good nature.