Peace From Dead Skinned Fingers
It's minor keys that resonate, I'll stay up late and wait
then in between the silence I'll hear the sound
of steel and cedar, the slow rebound
wrapping around my reflective heart
and so it comes,this slow release
brings me peace in dead skinned fingers.
It's me who lingers unanswered and unsolved
even after prayer wheels have been revolved.
The answer is not to doubt at all,
to take our backs from off the wall,
but still these shapes take precedence,
a permanent tenement residence
of twos and blue toned cadence.
That perfection goes unnoticed
would be easier to bare
if there was someone there to share
the exquisite madness and requisite gladness
who's roots draw from melancholy
but the apple that fell on me
knocking sense into me
bruising my head
releases me, brings peace to me
instead.
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