The End of the Line
the sun still shimmies up every morn
meanders down at days end
the moon fills the nights in various stages
morning streets are bombarded by struts slow and fast
cars sigh their usual obnoxious yells
sleep eludes me
tormented thoughts
you
occupy my psyche
brush stroke by brush stroke
and still never exactly you
your mona lisa allure
impossible to commit to memory
white flag in hand
surrender to your capture
trapped in the
the shame of my fragility
i hesitate
that jump off the cliff
i’ve walked the burning fields
where the smoke renders me blind
embraced my lack of sight
too many battles spun from steel
too many scars still not heeled
how does one exit this ride
this coaster of contradictions
i’ve found no path
A wisp of your outline
invades my sleep
how do i let go
how do I hold on
left in your hands
how do you find my where
if
i
myself
can’t find the starting line
Fri Feb 28
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