Thursday, June 18, 2009

6.18.09 ~ CM042406-1r-CMPart~-Fr-Sg~W.jpg

* * * * *
All the blue the echoes wave,
dusky in their dread,
moments they would crush and pave,
obliterate their tread,
deep within the pockets there,
wells so deep to stride,
hazing in the tired air
and all the years they tried
a syncopation few would know,
and fewer still would meet,
feigned indifference to them though
they’re mired in their deceit,
the patches sting their wounding taps
the puzzles left to quake,
through myriad and lengthy laps,
this queasy, long mistake
may venture to a calming vein,
though weary it may trace
the edges of its filtered pain
to etch the sins they face,
the slopes meander in the ropes,
these threads that cultivate
the simplest of aching hopes
the heart could estimate,
and still the answers slide and glisten,
strobe about the night,
the reasons strain to heal and listen
past the mottled sight,
they circle in among the dust
that scintillates and shames,
between the twinges throbbing gust,
the shadows of their claims,
and time will never really heal
the damage they have done,
the heart will ever crease, reveal
abrasions cruelly won,
this circus only rattles then
onto another stage,
the measures only slowing when
there’s no more left to gauge,
yet on the littered paths that led
into the chambered gloom,
so many ways were left instead
to share this caring room,
but loneliness too long defies
exquisite reverie,
and all the prairies and their skies
have dried too miserably,
and carved into the eons breeze
that swifts so sadly by,
the chants fall vacant to the trees,
their treasures slowly sigh.
© 2005 JM Shephard ~ JOY in the arts!

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