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Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #2229332
It's not a memory, this place. I'm not sure that it's safe, either.
There is a cold wind
Embracing me -
As I sink further and further
into liquid gold -

But there is fire
In my stomach
So the ice shards cannot

The white thieves chitter above me
They want to steal,
Their spying eyes glinting over everything,
But I have nothing for them, so they leave me

And far off lone scarves waft...
Far off the breeze is not so cutting
And they drift, those little squares,
With no direction but sideways

But then, spurred on by my thoughts -
Who knew I had all that power?-
My partner - the wind, before, so keen -
leaves me, finding ally-ship in sailors

And the mirror
Shattered by their affair
Surges those betrayers forward.
The mirror Reflects only pain, now

                                       Please, anywhere but here

The nowhere-shadow to the right of me,
Curled underneath arching, judging, businesses
Has found valuables
In the black cages of human waste

(And the thieves know this.
They know what he has.
They will steal.
They will take.)

I have nothing to offer him, either.
I have no condolences.
They left with the breeze
To find new fabric to love.

My feet keep sinking
And I find cool underneath heat -
Cool softness folding between my toes
(it really does get everywhere)

But it doesn't hurt
It is warm.
Warm and welcome and
It grounds me

Except it can only reach my ankles
And who says I need those?
My soul has no use
For walking

So I drift away
Like night leaves
Caught in the street -
Anywhere but here

© Copyright 2020 Michael Rose🏳️‍🌈 (munky6 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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