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This feels like an arrow
Made from a tree
That rose from
An acorn
That I gathered and stored
In another life

Scribed with a message continually
piercing my heart

I wasn’t only wounded though,
I was woke
into a clarity
that I was already sighting in my dreams,
writing with words
mortal and eternal

You once said, proclaimed or whispered
Every single thing
that I ever believed
My own truths embarrassed in the shadow of your confidence
My inner voice silenced in your animated persuasion

Believing you so completely – for the better of my years
Becoming like and unlike you because of it,
but not be-coming me,
Un-be-coming me every day

I ain’t even mad.
You don’t know this – still,
You don’t want
to hear it.
or listen;

Our time is running out, and
Even this admission
Is sure to haunt me one day,
and guilts me today

But I can’t call you confidant or crone
If you refuse to learn,
to evolve,
From this singular archetype

The wide and long view
seems to escape you:
You live in the moment in the least way, the worst way
And I don’t worship here or there, any more
The faith in your godliness is gone, and
It is unfamiliar
For me to pity you
You, intentionally deaf and tone deaf

You had all the answers
In the morning shallows, perhaps;
But evaporation revealed even those
Were anchor-less, yet stationary ideas
An algae,
Mucking up the colorless perfection of sunlit water

Continue reading “Famêlée” →