Staggering.

Goodbyes that are perpetual,
The lies that are eventual,
Replies ringing contextual,
Both my hands hang at my sides;


Strive to covtrive the beautiful,
Survive and defy the refutable,
Alive in what’s wise and meaningful,
There’s a flaw in my design;


The fling flung at the unbearable,
A thing that’s become something terrible,
A string strung from me to the pedestal,
Emptiness clouds my mind;


Regret will pervade the unmemorable,
Dissent describes the unfavorable,
Neglect persuades the inevitable,
I can’t claim to wonder why;


Moments unraveled into landmines,
Torment travels through real time,
Encroachments that sting all my blood line,
So staggeringly ill-defined;


This face, tattooed by suffering,
Disgrace has a presence that’s smothering,
Replace the sheer essence of everything,
Recovery’s not always kind.

Trample.

I can’t help it – that I’m inclined to worship Hope;
it is hardwired into my spirit to either die, or believe;
they’ve always said: that I run the air in my head,
in its purest form – un-buffered and painfully…
which doesn’t always work out so well for me;
as the resigned souls grow affectedly irritated;
by the squinting of eyes against a pinprick of light,
the unknown ahead has already left their minds jaded…
there’s a reason that my heat smolders Hope eternally;
it’s a valid reason that’s simple enough to perceive;
that there was a day – thousands of days before now,
that the ember died out and my spirit ceased to believe…
and it was during my meanderings through darkness;
that I felt the searing pain and end of days for sunshine;
and so goes why every pinprick of shining light at the end,
becomes more meaningful with each new glance of mine…
very rarely does a person truly drink down the nectar;
as it drips like diamonds of dewy wisdom from our trees;
all too often, we lose sight of the teeny pinpricking lights,
and are either trampled by others, or you’re doing the trampling…
and if we aren’t careful, the tunnel blacks out once again;
the light at the end barricaded behind piles of trampled bodies;
it’s a natural response to harbor an unspoken urgency,
when everyone around you is in such a Gods damned hurry.