Let me fall away
– Snowflake from the sky –
For my hallow has torn
What breath that once bellowed
From the depths
Of my heavy soul.
I will wash here
To embrace such a feeling
That can resemble
My reflections
That have become shattered,
And here I have bent
To account for the
Mistakes I have made.
When I was torn away
I held my sheltered self
Until this blood refused to circulate
Beyond each bend in my arms.
I was left struggling
Rummaging,
Though each tick
Felt good against my skin
And the blood
Spoiled my heartbeat
As Sun caressed thy pulse.
I am not the innocence you thought me to be
I’m scarred and torn from the inside out
Been held down and held out and held you in my hand
And I’m not sorry I ever let you in.
See, I’m a Tuesday in a Wednesday dress
Walking slowly with an elegant step
That sings songs of bygone;
A ministry of typewriters click-clacking away,
Mindfully absent, worrying about another day
That’s long past the next Prime Minister’s term.
I spill coffee in my hands to smell the beans,
Leaving a thorough understanding
Of what you do to me.
Though I leave my open door ajar,
I walk past and sing my song.
If I give in
If I back down
In a memory
Ride together again
Old and gone
How could I ask
Forget me then
Sweeping mountain top
Monument
As a visitor
Photograph
Pages torn away
For this I shall save
My last innocent breath,
A welcoming insight
Of two parts become one.
I shall forget what has never been,
What has torn at me,
What has floated free,
What has carried our distance
Unbeknownst for so long,
I shall not be blinded
By our history.
For this I shall save
My last innocent breath,
A chance of starlight
Emerging upon me.
It is for this that I shall wake
From slumber and deluge
Sprouting of new life
Upon the trunk of ancient ilk
Upon these paths formed
Carrying my thoughts
On towards you.
For this I shall save
My last innocent breath,
A ceremony of mine
Just in time.
My human memory lays awake at ungodly hours
Where you never let me know
I’m not going to play the piano any more
My fingers worn, nails are torn
Sending home the witness here
Messenger with another score
To bring at last, to bring me more.
She’s become a rich thud
On the inside of my stiff rib cage,
A desert dweller
Wrapped in a long scarf
Elegantly colored
But wind torn.
Her footsteps stretch from
Slightly blurry horizon lines
To a place not far from me,
Not too close.
One step behind
One step ahead.
So the dust rolled on
And my footsteps I would have liked
To trace back my heart steps
Casually covered over
With waves I vaguely recognized,
Which feigned my heart
Like a sticky leaf
To the inside of my rib cage.