PORCELAIN CRACK

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scars run deep
inside my Soul ~ return to the surface
as a porcelain crack . . .

~ ~ ~ ~


Show me the ruin of my fantasies
along linear degrees
a broken barn, dismembered wood in afternoon sun,
weeps as wind travels through rotten holes, whistling
its doom of tumble and wreckage

What about my own debris?
My own cracks? What sings through the gaps
having no empathy for amputated things
my Soul a patch-work of many fabrics
colored and sewn in mismatched disarray
an embroidery of emotions cross-stitched
haphazardly

What of the bleached, porcelain skin
fair as cream, perforations unseen but there
deepening still yet healing from the menace
to an amount extended from the penance
perpetrators’ fingers embedded in the grimace

Along the trappings of the day
attest to wires in the grim reap of thistle
words others often failed to say
or thrusts slammed too hard, either way
could I listen only to the sorrow of
regret without demanding more of it to say?

My blood the current of anguished streams
painful to yearnings that sought not its
blanket cover even when snows melted
revealing meadow’s best
how I contorted even within the dreams

Thoughts never left folds of mountain curve
calling mysteries to explore
within cavernous gloom I would not forget answers that
I gave in seeking echoes gravitationally more

All along cuts and incisions sang
enticing melody to uninhibited abandon
so I would vibrate along
ancient chants of Cherokee-way
or whatever slashes grazed my lips to say

Did I turn as hard as pebbles loved
allowing time to slip between realities
I could never hold
peaceful jaunts upon stoic breezes, so cold
humming merrily between the fissures
releasing everglades of proffer, too bold

There were moments I belonged
forever not to leave amiss
though that destiny was not my offer
remaining just long enough
to soak up altitudes of forgiveness

Am I merely a soldier passing through
existence wrought with equal bliss and sin
fighting wars of loneliness
in foreign lands of emptiness
a battle I shall never win

What oozed from my Soul
when death finally took place?

I saw a view of Pansies, ever so sacred
against the backdrop of a battle space
sprouting amongst tumbled remains of a barn
swimming in wounded red

Shown the ruin of my fantasies
along linear degrees
witnessed from a porcelain crack
once belonging to my mortal skin
which my life’s memory passed through
to horizontal end

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