Forlorn and Facing Reconfiguration

I withdrew my efforts months before months before

I am blank canvas, abandoned like the empty mine—still 

possessing gold; seemingly, knowledge only I care to know

dust settles and design forms an abstractive patterning—yet, all assurances I can now provide are but trivial, unintentional; only residue, coincidentally shed upon, what once was the bark of pine

I rescinded perseverance, long before long seemed forever far

I am the rusted chain; I am the captive’s scar—so antiquated, a reminder of a past so effortlessly shunned away

dampness stirs alive the cloth—a cloth cares not for futures, of consequence or repercussion; it only does what you ask it to, be that wiping fresh a dirtied slate or offering moisture to an arid face.

I disassembled my entirety, part before piece before part and piece

I am mechanical; calculative—dividing out the old and worn, a sum of parts infused as new, fully aware, some slivers can never be removed.

  

Mulligans

Mandolins and bayonets

Piercing drums, as steel slips in

Foci

Fermi

Unending

Gargoyles and Pekinese

Portraits of stone legs lift to

Wardens of the ill contrived

Paw its prey, before anima arrives

Flash card focal points

Outmatched by

Flash mob Reasoning

Push the button

Pull the pin

Wipe the slate; erase the dun

Then awake, free from sin

Rewind and begin again.

  

Renewal

To the happy thoughts,

All those things that elate

You’ve no idea the incongruity

You bring to me,

At what expense is the pleasure I should take

Do the positive gains negate

Each and every hateful word I ever said

Being happy is difficult for me,

Instead of taking the moment for what it is,

I roll scenarios through my mind

And compare them to how this moment could have been

And even the ones that seem perfect

I find the flaws in each of these,

Yet when I saw her, that very first time,

I realized perfection truly does exist,

To think she has my blood,

That she is a product, a creation,

From the girl I still see when we were little, when we were kids

Thoughts like this, provide the urge,

The motivation to persist

Life Reincarnated

It appears an eternity has been erased,

There is a static beginning,

And a fluid end, obviously yet to come,

But the parts in-between seem to have

Traversed this lifetime,

And I am left awaiting its return,

Dreams are like foreign films,

Familiar images in dissimilar scenes,

These are the memories of someone else, a person I’ve never known,

It seems the understanding has returned,

To all the chariots, go forth and tell the world,

Your king has returned,

We are all given two things, life and death,

These are the only constants that connect us all,

It’s what we do in that sacred field of experience,

That pasture of plentitude, that chasm of what cannot be,

It is in this place we cast our unique molds,

And tonight I cast my own,

All the images in my head are nightmares I must bear,

Yet I’ve been given that, which I’ve yet to hear,

A life a death, a Rebirth

Where the only similarities lie within the face