its often i hear
the whisper
cold it brushes
bruises
my sinking
skin
escapes
scrapes
the very being
that gave it wing
“it is the weather”
i whisper
to my soul to hear
“its not you dear”
here comes another
song
wringing the sky
dry
dredging
along
the floors
of a shallow soul
shadows
that play
upon the face of night
it cries
peg the holes
in me
and make me whole
i cannot bear
the tears
that rent my being
drain
what i contain
you can see him
facing heaven
awash with rain
he pretends pain
pearls dewing
his dead lashes
salt sting
pool at the corners
his eyes become
seas
the pull
of the lonely moon
tides into waves
a parched shore
crackles into a smile
at the beginnings
of yet another story
“its the rain”
he answers
the questioning wind
one with the dust
one must
remain
remains
litter
the streets glitter
with pieces come
undone
from lives
smiles
miles away
the day
pain
came as rain
washed away dreams
in screams
shards of what was
alas
play
forever and a day
time will not heal
peals
scratching at its door
petals dead on the floor
against time and death
we cannot bet
yet a butterfly’s wings
can sing
a crack into the universe
disperse
hope
scope
of living
giving
there is a bruised doll
that made its fall
from little hands
lands
in a pool or water
that is her blood and tears
their eyes glazed
dead
their faces
traces
of dirt
and mirth
there goes a man
who can stand
on three feet
weary and beat
three limbs clank through empty street
no music here only discordances meet
the only song, “why am i a witness
to hell twice”
an old lady is borne
by the one born
of her
to find a shelter
“thank you,” she manages
before she collapses
in a heap
of a thousand and a hundred
as a rice ball
on her wrinkled hand falls
a mother
with a picture
of her daughter
hopes to meet her
hopes lost
memories will cost
here they come
as one
brushing off the grime
of time
while others while
away helping hands in denial
why cant you see
what pains me
is it not true
if it doesn’t hurt you?
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