A Poem on Breaking Away
We were magnets for each other’s entropy;
a wave goodbye was never the end.
Guns and knives, they were no weaponry;
just conduits for us, for whatever stemmed
from that yearning for sharing readily.
Machinations in our minds we detected,
validated, experimented, added to that legacy
that said we were brothers, that said we were friends.
But there is no clemency for me, the serpent,
when your seats are reserved for invaders of soul.
Somehow I am not natural, not right, not important.
The shoal of plastic should swallow me whole,
and in the rising tides that drown the discordant,
I should submit to the gravity; the black hole.
I no longer hear your voice when you shriek,
Just radio static chewing at the highway.
Did I say the wrong turn after the boutique?
Or has your mirror always shown me sideways?
I hope one day you will forgive my cheek,
For taking the wheel in the height of this craze,
pulling in the lay-by, down by the creek,
And leaving to walk the rest of the way.
I found my church; not one of metal,
instead, rugged bark and grassy meadow,
where time blooms and brandishes petals,
turns to fruit and leaves seeds for ammo.
I pray you will gravitate here and settle,
for I own the hand that reaches for you…
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