by Steven Craig

When wills become clashes, and efforts refraining voices.
Silences are broken with disregard the compelling token.
Promises are loans foreclosed before the borrowing
and night skies are cisterns deposited with neglect.
Denials have become passions, and are pursued myopic intent.
Enforced identity bears poorly the burden of hopes fading intentions
and life’s lack of foresight.

Be it ever so small that worlds must collide over who is standing in the wrong
when all the while it is raining outside.
Truth is not a verdict,
nor a prize to be gained,
nor for expending your emotional life’s blood for a bird in the hand.
The attempted power of EMPIRE,
two peoples in its land,
bridled with the redden hate of its life,
and denial of any pain.
Fearful of revenge,
terrified by any inner light,
for to see into oneself far too deeply is to see only fathomless night.

Standing far from its borders,
where the wind still blows the hair,
from here, it is EMPIRE,
and from here, jaded care.
No finger points here, and no hand controls.
No feet tramp here, and no slave army toils.
But labors there have been, a tide has washed this land.
But now, there are bones here,
and I am already far to the west.
Cleanly, the ground is purged, and mightily heaved to heaven.
Tumulous resoundings ring upon the stone within the mind,
but cleansing destructive climax, it has still left the bones to die.

On to the suns trail,
still a step to take,
I linger and then, only then,
do I purposefully point the finger.
Not for fault have I come here, or for excuses, careless reason.
Too far from understanding,
I have traveled now,
and emotion has ceased its refrain.

I stand at the vortex,
in a chaotic silence still preserved,
and marvel at the sheer and utter gall that I had bothered to even pass this way at all.


Author's Note: Bad choices often come to bad ends, and from the ruin, new strength is gathered to become who you are.

Posted on 06/24/2006
Copyright © 2020 Steven Craig

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