Thursday, January 27, 2011

Blades of the Soul

Reaching towards your afterlife,
Forever in pursuit of tomorrow, as whispers guide what you hear,
Failing to see mirrors and light, instructions dictate distrust in fear,
You visualize how things should be, yet the eyes paint too vividly, instead of leading they succumb to blindness,
Distancing from the present reality, blankets cast covet tactility and idyllic portraits run, distorting interpretation within the mind,

Pores open wide, tingling from the cold inside,
The wind it mirrors the image told, colliding with the heartbeat of the heat outside,
Your broken visage caught in the undertow, a deadly prophecy carefully constructs a veiled image of truth from a lonely remnant of the swell,
They’re swimming in every niche, shark-like apparitions, chasing something, known yet unknown,
Circling the outer sphere, diving and repeating, sensing coda coming as blood curdles in the air,

As speckles float and snowflakes fail, an escape path’s drawn in precisions’ glare
 A provisional clarity glittering through the atmosphere,
Yet confusion clouds, confounds your every bit
Lost then regained, misplacing intuition and the coat-check stub along the way,
Retracing steps and dodging traffic, In search of your blades,
Nervousness, doubt, of which without solution-less secrets are all that remain,
Claiming your direction, you believe, confuse tomorrow for today,
Hunting, pecking through each minimalistic reflection seen,
Comforting voices convert to code, obscure, foreign, understood just the same
As hairs split inches far, frozen in a moment, parting is the saddest portion of divide,
Standing now, amidst smothering cold, frosted words are swung upon with blades re-owned.

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