Facets
Laureate
Mortuus
Utsuri
Indecisive, never sure of anything, and always
questioning something, chance circumstance leaves
my body shaken, until anything decisive has spilled out,
evaporating into the air and disappearing into time.
Habit denied and new options materialize, I'm
stuck in an awkward position, stationary to the point
where I almost don't care anymore... almost.
Fabrications sewn together to create a blanket that
suffocates the mind, inabilities overpower confidence
and I just can't shake off what isn't physically real,
but the one truth I have come to realize is that
situational caring and periodic effort only lead to
sporadic victory. Maybe. Sometimes?
Token morals, hypocrite saviours penny a piece
coasting on handouts- bread and fish; love
peace- a piece of the pie; red wine, devoured flesh
roasted Jews clinging to the beard of soldiers;
Muted Cicero; Caesar not paid his due
I walked upon water; a leak from Heaven
faux tears, serpentine- envy green eyes
and her mouth held many a surprise;
forked tongue Medusa- seducing the withered soul
who's going to save it? Bubble-wrapped and sold
shipped on Charon's boat- lost in thoughts
Lucy sold diamonds; I bought knock-off love
she asked me “Why aren't we together?”
I said “Maybe we were never close at all”
Just a closed sign upon the door of the tin Heart
and her Ruby jewels could only string me so far.
She had turned as she left, shame I wasn't there
I had moved on. Not even knowing as to where.
Colors on a canvas, a swirling cobalt love locked
with a electric green bursting into a cyan mist,
It's a birth of a new color--birth of a work of art.
I get tangled in a web of brush strokes, flattened
by an insatiable lust of beauty. I've been pointing
my finger, more like hovering and tracing direction.
drawing cursive like winding patterns until it
jets out, lets the idea build momentum and burst
to escape the minds grasp. Not to give up it's secrets.
A blueprint, a guideline. A wearied path to follow until
it forks ahead like a Robert Frost poem. He asks me
"What do you see, young man?" I look back,
hand holding my heavy head up by the chin, "it's
the weight of thought," I thought. "You see anything?"
reassuring his question, eagerly awaiting my answer
"A birth of a poem." I smiled.