Truth is the destiny of everyone.
That is the only sure thing.
All else equals nothing because
your lord has no eyes
any more than my feet
have direction in between the toes.
Startled, you wander
the supermarket is teeming with quiet wanderers
just like you
size up an apple, or
douse a tissue in violent nose words.
It could very well be that
they won’t see tomorrow’s sun.
And you might think;
“Well, what’s the difference anyway.
Today’s was round and warm.
That’s all a sun will ever be.”
It comforts us, wrapping our skin in
more than the bruises and veins.
Sun is like mother
with light for the eyes
rays for the smile.
She doesn’t change because she knows
your life will be something you didn’t see coming, young one.
She comes back,
The market closes.
You step outside,
wash your feet in
You drink from a stubborn glass
wondering how you can really
make a difference in the world?
Then you drench it all in
weary from their own shelf life
recognizing the humanity that
sleeps in the bags of your eyes.
Maybe you should have gotten
an apple as well.
Gardens strive to burst into your ivy eyes
for no more pay than another day.
The water helps, sure.
Water always helps.
But you aren’t a flower.
You keep your petals tightly knit
within the confines of your chest
unable to decide which shade of magenta will be
appreciated most, or
perhaps score you more tickets to the sky.
There is no sky.
The water will dry.
Stretch your calling as you would your arms,
shackled as they may be.
No one cares how many cuff scars you attained over the years
because as long as you can forge a key
you can be your own world.
That comes with some terrible, terrible consequences
but doesn’t it all?
Gardens are eaten and doused in wretched flame.
Still, one day again
it will blossom.
Why can’t you just
burn in the proper direction?
Why so blue,