Guilty cutting Razor Blades

While I ponder alone without the muse

 

I will tell you how it is

As life has flowed, around, though passed and been a part of my being

Tempted am I to belong and then move on from the illustrative

A simple message is all I bring locked in chaliced ice and hearts of coal

The silver gray of the dawn blossom in incandescent healing

While the strength from these words echo in twisted form

Those that read will understand lessons hewn betwixt sentiments coated

Simmering murmurings make me aware of unsettling that occurs

As others plan and weave sacrosanct political grandstanding

Fingers poke holes in the pupil of an eye as it recants the will of a hummingbird

Then I breathe

The wind moves the aged trees carrying much wisdom locked in tattered bindings

Unspoken yet knowing and bleeding upon the parchment bristling with comment

Nothing changes or stays the same as time marches silently forward on the stroke of midnight

Little is lost in multilingual translations of melodramatic posturing

Meanwhile I drink from a cup that has no bottom or will to just be

And I see my feet, barefoot and soulless digging furrows in the sand to mark my being

My skin burns from sitting in the heat of the sun blistering in variant pustules

I pick and squeeze listening for relief as the swallows run from the cold

And the verdant offerings please a grazed and calloused hand

I close my eyes

Memories cease to be when another salvation is brought for the pleasure

And photographs sit still upon the mantle when gathered in flocks of feathers

Coveted be this pleasing while it sits uneasy within the skin that is me

If words had been left immortalised in prose or chiselled in marble

I don't think I would have forgotten why or others had suffered the fate of the same

Crossed in the vermillion of cupped anger exposing slashes of hate upon the wall

Yet humble musings gather slanderous and pitiful against the will of the masses

Misunderstood and left to turn shades of dancing colour as Autumn turns to Fall

And the snow deadens the sound of footfall as we all lower our head to feed

So I speak

Do I expect others to see me different when dappled through the prism

Spectrums diffused in multitude of hues washed in subtle whispers

And played as the roll of a dice marks my exit on the tapestry