Day Six

Six days prior a gypsy said it best….

Without verb or noun, one palm out,

Anticipating, Participating,

Waiting to collect the rain, on an evening it would just not rain, for days now,

 Frayed burlap, dress or coat, dangling, hanging,

Arm outstretched, Left index, pointing straight at me.

If I didn’t believe in witchcraft,

Or proficient like so many in the study of Mathematics,

 144, 8640, 518, 400, Numbers appeared so poignantly,

Atop the skyline, withering in the sky,

Scare tactics in plain view,

Nicotine and Skeletons,

Well…You got yours and I got mine,

But a sign I never would have seen, never would have noticed,

Never would have wondered why,

Six days from then,

Six Days behind me now,

Each day leading towards a point,

Each day lost in a tempest since then,

I have no explanation,

What I did, I don’t know how,

I gathered the strength of ten soldiers,

The quickness of a cheetah cat,

In the frame I’ve been so cursed,

Not to say I don’t have any culpability, but just saying,

How this turned out the way it did,

The way it unfolded, choreographed from the start,

By some Haggard women, pointing at me in the dark,

One girl gives her Thanks,

That smile, that’s enough, perhaps…some day it will,

I shouldn’t shed a single cry,

For those creatures left that night to die,

Crushed in skulls and listless limbs,

Should I even fret for things like this?

No, but yet,

Even knowing what I know,

Seeing the face of the future glow,

I do.