Deadbeat. hero. superstar
celebrity.
glimmer. fear
beads
a luster all its own
remaining
strong when strong
is
but emotions faked thus far.
Skylines
still react in varicosity
blues,
red, purples-grey tint,
reframed
the dominion of the
filamentary
induced dead-set
dichotomy
In
a vast expanse of what remains,
the
stars rear their eternity and
rub
our wounds with infectious
salves
While
fecundity is still in this singe-scarred deck,
for
such a card to place its lead, upon what wisdom
would
one tread, in days where norms live long—where soil’s been
but
a lonely place—one to solely sow remains left dead
Caveat
emptor, everywhere—a fact reminded daily of—
whence
amalgams blur the liens seared of/between, sheltered discordance and
cacophonous distends—a time, not infrequent to view, the twitch-work toggling
of a forefingers dysfunctional bond—split in symmetry
The
Carcajous, dwindle as do all—left in diminished stature, living
through
instinctive tracts alone—where uncountable has been the distance between what
stands today and the lost state of retraction
as
do the phylum’s dreadful laws of diminished return—cajoling the sensory into dream—left
dwindled by verisimilitude and the undressed harnessing of questions idling
Flesh,
is flesh, where despite the previous epochs of ill-sown in bigotry, the stains
of time, has lost it’s bias, differentiating only between those with pulse and
those in whom hope’s long since been redacted from—where spondees lilt in
trails left in ruins, scourging fully about—in the unshackled fetters
inherently implied, in the sinful constructs of man—exacerbating the still-born
tragedies breathed into the these ever-wandering tribes—characterized fully by
the ravenous hunger, mirrored only by the exsanguinated shells they’ve become.
Deadbeat.
For lack a better term
starlit
still…are the hope-filled eyes of children,
our
own and those we’ve been blessed to tend
hero…each
day, somehow, our status is reaffirmed—
Never
illustrating the sheer terror each second spawns,
ever
only moving in trails that bridge each gap of safety, together in what we only
hope to remain unbreakable links of a most frail chain…
In
their gaze…you see their relief, belief…you witness the idolization they
imprint upon, unto you…Stares you choke back the tear’s an unkind reality
offers…yet, these children represent a future, one you believe cannot exist,
but they believe—
And
this is something you are not willing to watch become replaced—and in such, you
push forward, hiding back pessimistic posturing, choking back the deluge of
tears…somehow, this reason for being…becomes enough…to deceive yourself…(into
the ever-outstretched arms of a faith…you can’t believe you ever chose to
ignore…)
