Life
is often harsh with lies told to hamper truths grounded
in
concrete thorns. You’ll one day confront a vocal mirror
while
eating orange chicken sudden to seethe with a
touch
of righteousness. I was a banquet running out of
horderves
running out of breath where pompoms were lost
for
luster plus zeal. We knew little of love to grow more for
love
a life segmented by briers rolling into a storm. Winds
sat
in stillness pushing towards splinters to infect a thought.
I’ll
give it to you: To spread one’s-self thinly is to lose ground
while
under-appreciating self an extent evident in a lack of
gripping
for love. We become deeply distant, ever aloof, to
figure
for drifting when swamps reach our doors. Our roots
are
then shallow, easily uprooted, subject to a repeated cycle
of
planting. You’ll one day confess to a pricking that speaks
more
in presence aside for speech. You’ll enquire of how
something
rotates as an earth to affect an otherwise pleasant
disposition.
This something spins upon an internal axis
even
to channel an analytical sadness. You’ll one day see with
the
eyes of a force that was a friend prior to the womb. Tears
may
come where grass absorbs a reservoir of tensions. You’ll
feel
in self a deep ache to soar through web and maze. We’ll
be
present to explain for our part where such shall not appease.
If
luck is present, we’ll settle for keen-eyed forgiveness.
