“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Friday, August 31, 2018
Vessel
There is nothing about
a something of which
nothing can be said.
So each support beam gave way,
broke hold, splintered in the grooves-
except for this one,
strong enough to grab ahold
of a pen,
despite the fear of failure
or plain truth.
Enough is enough.
We all get fed up.
And then are left to pick up
where we left off-
our stuff, the baggage, the mess
we left when it all went wrong
when we turned away.
When the pillars piled up
we were promised
the worst was over.
Nothing is over.
Levitation is indecision.
There are times we feel the time
tap our skin, seconds like rain,
and this time I felt like screaming
so I did,
only sunshine poured in when I opened
my mouth
and the light flooded the empty body
reminding me
to stay afloat.
Photograph of the Ruins of the Aduana in Intramuros (Red marquis at English Wikipedia) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons, taken 2012.
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