I was hoping there would be some
really easy
way out
I was hoping time
would grant me a miracle
my passion is broken
and this wound re -opened
then that spirit that has been helping me through
heaved a great sigh
so loudly that this time
I was sure it was her.
no mistake.
I could no longer fight
I could never really fly
the poems are stories, the stories are
unfinished thoughts
the task is always uncompleted
never done
how many ways can I say it?
fantasy builds on strange enough reality and
the skeletal remains of hope
reading between the lines to the truth of the matter
which will inevitably
prove my innocence, erase my guilt
deep down guilt
something about original sin
revealing certain mysteries
punishment, salvation, delivery from suffering
I had been hoping for some easy way out
of this tainted and distorted labyrinth
this ongoing maze of nights and days
celebrating and bouncing off the walls
of the uterus or galaxy as it were
I was hoping time would grant me a miracle
and if time should grant this miracle, what would I do
but take it in my unclenched fists, open palm to the sky
whispering for a different reprieve
since the miracle was not spoken of
in certain circles
and those circles would be broken
by the light of day
and the motives of the people within them
exposed for the lessons to be learned
the people individually would be
revealed from their core
and that would make those decisions that much easier
those decisions about who to trust, who to let in
closer than the kind of fire we can truly identify
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