barebriar
you have a responsibility;
the ice melts if you cry.
the candle dies if you melt.
the die rolls crooked if you respond.
our responsibility is what consumes us.
aboriginal
unequivocal
gone
properly applied, determination can be one's road to success.
improperly applied, determination can crush one's spirits in a single blow.
properly applied, mascara brings out the potency of a woman's eye
improperly applied, mascara burns the retina and seeps into your brain when you cry.
the sweep of wonder
across valleys rolling by the mortuary.
sweetness in the bloom,
and matrons on the wing.
sweeping up the kitchen floor
pretending all is well
in the air.
there is a child on a barrel in the street.
he sits, swinging his legs over the side,
looking round the corner to the
chariot men.
it is a cold day,
and no sun shines.
there is a child on a barrel in the street
he looks alright,
but he can't feel a thing.
i can find a way,
to be sure,
in any world but my own.
somehow, it seems impossible that you could be
this way.
you've destroyed me.
how can you be so sure?
must it possess you
to be anything but over?
age is deterministic.
forget everything.
she has a deftness about her
and it shows.
she may try to hide
what she does not wish to hear
but it shows.
and she knows
that the petals of a red rose
are strict in their finality.
the king is wrapped in tinfoil
and the queen is dressed to fail
the servants all are quivering
and it shows
now.
the day is today,
and the clock shall not wait any longer.
now is the time for action.
words have lost their voice.
this is our time.
we have grown strong once more.
from weakness we have risen,
like a phoenix from the ashes,
and it is time for us to take back what is ours.
right now.
a zephyr blew the game from
st. neots to the land of the roving ones.
there, they lived always in harmony,
the game keeping them in check.
back home in st. neots, rain pounded on the cobblestone.
there was nothing quite like an english winter.
rainy and drab.
just like the rest of the year.
there are five pillars in the calcium desert.
three stand before me now;
i can see the sun behind the first,
the moon behind the second,
and a brief flash of light behind the third
before i turn to fall between the lines of determination.
i can slip once and
topple over
without much hassle
these days
i heard the broadcast on a saturday.
the news of war
broadcast in blood.
i did not fall once.
i fell twice.
my second time corrupted me,
and brought my mother to her knee,
to ask the lord "i pray to thee:
please save my son, please let him be!"
you heard the broadcast on a sunday.
it was rainy and i was long gone.
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writing since 2012 · 18 entries · 17 days shown up
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the words Barebriar reaches for
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