Retakes

Whatever it takes to be (how many retakes to be) the best
Beauty died somewhere beneath
the well walked poles, the pinstriped sheets
Died somewhere beneath our feet
Under hard shoes with loose steps that never rest
Beauty no longer lives within their chests
Terminated, vacated, up and left.
Too many rungs without relief
And I don't want to be the best.

Too thinly worn from winding clocks and dials, all crying crocodiles
I hunt for the branch that breaks the tree
Might one more slip away from me
And I lose faith in what I see
They've tendered freedom with denials
And only I know my shoes' miles
And yet you claim them all the while.
You know no chains, but I am never free.

What I might take with claws away, and rake the nape that gnaws away
I'm almost sure you never owned
Plaintive cries are only tones
When no pain quite matches your own.
And the long armies of like minds that dot your way
Whose airborne thoughts all got away
Who say what-all they ought to say
They still don't make red hands okay.
Only when you go and suffer all your own
Can you say you know why the wise men stay.

-M.I. Melis