A Butterfly’s Wings.

I spent all of this miserable time,
With an eye ever watching what’s mine,
Oh, how these strong emotional walls,
Break to bits when they finally fall,
Watch as my own wrecking ball,
Bitterly destroys it all in due time.

Wildly employing harsh strategies,
Idly killjoying my fantasies,
See how the peace is so far gone?
The why and how, the right and wrong,
Unsevered ties to my tragedies,

No bottom to the darkened depths,
no solidity beneath my many missteps,
Hear how my world is death rattling?
See my walls of glass as they’re shattering,
Around the feet that the mirror reflects?

Like a fluttering paper in a wayward breeze,
Screaming answers to queries whispered silenty,
A blessing disguised as an atomic bomb,
To explode and expose what our oaths have become,
The violent detachment of a butterfly’s wings.

Dark Heart of Me.

I have these dawning moments when:
everything around me tightly closes in
tunneled down by a tornado’s spin –
and at end of the tunnel –
lies the booming realization;
I have these dulled down memories:
so very many once meaningful things
carved, imparted on the dark heart of me –
but I have let them fade away –
no new recollections to retrieve;
I know of some of the sacred divinities:
many thing shown to me by the elderly
drawn like a map amidst the Mysteries –
however, the mystery is gone –
what fills its place, tastes bitterly;
I live amidst a sense of danger and doom:
like a shadow cast by a permanent gloom
no matter where I go, it’s in the room –
it’s impeded upon a part of me –
not likely to change anytime soon;
I display a die-hard tendency:
hardens the hardness of the people I see
deepens the darkness of the world around me –
to lead the horses to the water –
and wait there until each one drinks;
I am modified by the things that I’ve survived:
skin on my body grown from cells that were not mine
ears pinned to my head like Frankenstein –
these things were never easy –
but they’ve sure made me feel alive.
I try my best to look ahead:
not get tangled up in any said and done webs
not worry about what he or she might have said –
no matter they say about the end of another day –
we’re all just one day closer to being dead.