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 |   GI100 Book #2...random attempts at poetry. |
8-3-17 There are bug-like blood stains on everything. Someone's been here before making some regrets. Mistakes were clear. I catch a warm wind and inhale the sand of another's bones and I catch myself. No one should've known, I can hope. My periphery sees things I don't as I spin my head to acknowledge; a sun that's not a neighbor and an ally unable of trust. You're unspeakable but I can hear you. Your trail was ending at my feet. A breath and a curse. A cloudless rain. Unseen at the destination, I don't have the option of a smarter retreat. I must face this. I have to draw a margin and stay within as the details begin to emerge. There's a responsibility and I should understand its outline but the murkiness is blinding. It's all I have left. And I know you were around. Even the most desolate places bear the autumn of your presence. Do better, it says. Give yourself a chance to take another breath. Do better, it says. Give yourself a chance to see whatever's left and make an existence outside this silhouette. Do better, it says. |
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