I exist in the seven inches
Surrounding the catalysts
I yield to
Supplying all the blood flow to my hands.

I make love to the wilderness
Wanton desires and figures of speech
I compensate for the love and trust
I can never reach.

The frost on my window
Reminds me of every betrayal
Every knife thrown at my back
The most recent is as vivid as the moon
When will I meet someone without
Such poor aim?

And then I walk away without
The liars and the thieves
And make every trigger count
How long till the wind pulls out your lungs
And proves that your paradise and glee
Cannot be reached till the mutiny stops?

I ache for the never ending flashes
Of light and batallions
Lost in the counterattacks of human motion
Metaphor
Humility
And epidemics of emotional charcoal.

I want to escape the shelves
And see how far the galaxy goes
Fill the solar winds push me to the limit
And remember to watch my back.

09/27/2003

Author's Note: ~~we flock to grace and salvation as if it is a drug, forgetting the sins that push us to define ourselves by the holes we dig. Usually, one can find themselves in the whispers of the trees at daybreak or on islands that man creates... And the record will skip, and we will fall again. Who gets to choose thier capabilities? Not the saviours.~~
I can't help what the past has written on my inner walls, or what actions have caused tear shed. I can call a cease fire and find my own glory.

Posted on 09/28/2003
Copyright © 2024 Beth K Hannah