Few things make me bleed like wrought iron.
There brings deficiencies surfacing.
Here goes the buttress of my heart.
Disappointment is not so much a burden as deceit.
Words not as heavy as the accord they write.
Should my life be a poem, it traces ones and zeros.
A swear on a life is meaningless to a mind incapable of conceiving death.
The words I close my eyes to say is the grit in my teeth I brushed out the night before.
I'd have followed my chains, but they already broke my neck.
If I could write an apology, it would be washed away.
When I close my eyes I am assaulted by light.
Truly I was blind to it;
that if you could choose your hill to die on,
it would be my burial mound.
And tell me how deep a grave to dig,
for so shallow a man.
And when you weep, it is only salt to the wound.
Where is the pressure to go, the light to escape,
a fractured chamber forces its pieces together.
Before long the sublimation is complete.
Before too late the forgotten has been forgiven.
Where am I to go, tell me, for I do not know.
The same poison kills me, the same barriers we build.
So the wrought iron stands, letting the floodwater rise.
Only because of the clattering do you turn.
Witness the white of my bones,
the pink of my flesh,
the tender skin,
the yellow of my enamel,
and so ponder the value of it all, as the echo chamber fades.
And so when you feel guilt,
remember I put the knife to my skin.
And so when you run out of tears,
I'll always lend you mine.
And so when you're breathless,
my oxygen is yours.
And so in spite of reconstruction,
the first exit in the freeway from my heart will forever bear your name.
And so when I think of joy,
it is bees and lilacs and your smile.
For that I endured a thousand stings,
but the last ceased my heart.
With the curtains already drawn,
I hope it muffled my screams.
I wish you never experience the agony,
in feeling your love succumb to attrition.
So I weep,
for the same veil that protects you keeps you blind.
That sapling is no longer ours to foster.
We witness the rot take hold.
And as I sit gazing from a distance,
you've walked away.
I'll never be so blind as to miss the branch in your palm.
We've forests to return to,
new seeds to collect,
new grazings to gallop,
fresh paths to tread,
mountains to conquer,
streams upon which to take rest,
untouched meadows to prosper,
pups to foster,
threads to weave,
candles to light,
so that when we both look back,
our smiles will be bright.
DFWYNLM #187
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