Thursday, June 28, 2012

Sequel or Prequel

Sequel or Prequel

Exhausted and racing for sleep, burning eyelids and crackling breach
Between the aperture of my vision on fire to bleed tears like trails
Of stripes rolling down my flesh and carve out the lines of emptiness
Years of school and prayers for some other voice to hear

Inside this rattled cage impressed in self-generated fuel to start each day
And continue to move, to write letters that only I can read
Accepting that there is an indolence and complacency battling inside
That solitude is a mainstay, relinquish pride like an airway

To launch the planes of what I can be flying low on solo
Not far off the ground, but at least I might break a sound barrier of
My own silence somewhere there in crevice of a liquid trail
Camping out impaled like a knocker on a vagabond door

Never expecting reaction, response, and last of all invitation from the
Hallways of this Earth, there will always be a her along her way
Living another life and I will pray, holding hope in the arms of a prayer
Kept in a poor secret raided from the air pocketed in my lungs

Borrowed for the sum of tired looks and broken eyes
Needing oil and jaded for surprise, never been and never had
The sight of the unexpected coming past, like the ending on a reel to reel
Out of nowhere a rider on the heart to feel a freshness, a novelty in bloom

Laughing at the thought of something so all together new
Never has happened and Sisyphus has seen more diverse endings
Than my years to shatter pretending, as if her voice could crack ice
Frozen over hardened sight and burning in water rocks of shackled light

Bending here in the throngs of my head burned and learned form nights
Wanting medicine in arms and skin so long a voice, a girl, a life more than
Has led me to feel, sirens and medusas eating me alive, avarice in her arms
Like shackles of tin and metal hearts, woman of cackling crows, a murder of deceitful tones

Trust melted in the skin of the only being I called love
Watching an inferno and a guise, roads of scorched earth and infertile fields
Hoping there is another chance before the final turn of this wheel
Playing this film on screen, searching for hope to pry my eyes open

To watch a scene I think I may have already seen
To be surprised would mean I still have a chance to be alive
To see the same is to die another thousand days alive in a fire with melted skin
How do I find the strength to keep watching when
The only script I have ever read, tells me just how this story is going to end?

No comments:

Post a Comment