This gray day has bought with it
Some wizened thoughts
Of a past not long back
When the feet knew of stinging bites
And the heart found love in
Nothing old or known and
Thorns and stones
(and stupid idealism).
The hunger has died, but the burn remains.
The urge to purge the stillborn memories
Of many of our dreams we built callously,
(brick by brick)
Whetted by the stone of curiosity,
Licked by the blade of loneliness,
they have planted beautiful blooms
for the Gods in their slave’s garden.
To be enjoyed while taking a pinch of salt
With a drink to our sealed fate.
Grief comes to those who have the time to cry.
The rest of us keep on running until
we run dry.
And sometimes we remember to breathe,
As there is nothing any longer to feel.
While the gush of air in dissolves the body
Into the universe of our head rush,
And the clouds above roll out the drums and the show,
but no rains or tears from within,
I often question the distant rainbow,
I remember seeing while I walked a prayer for you, only to get
An endless reflection of vacuous colours,
in the mirrored room of illusions I built for myself. All over again.