There are no two things that are the same, a blessing and a curse whispering my lessons with trembling lips and driving my red face down into dust. Might I triumph this round, stagger to my corner with legs of rust?
When the sun glints its breath over the seas and streams golden air across the span like a garden of sunflowers, I have to laugh at the breadth of my stupidity. Most damp and dim and without good reason my native Love’s been sabotaged leaving hemorrhaging corpses heavy upon my back, as if I hadn’t enough to carry, enough blood to wash from my slothful hands.
I keep coming back to faith with a vulture’s famine, hunched over a torrent of veins, cleaving the shadows laughing beneath my beak. I return again and again in search of a sunken truth, like a hound on the scent of wide-eyed rabbits darting in and out of the brush, ears unready to hear, eyes exhausted from panic, legs hammering their noise against the thing most lethal to reason; fear.
There are no two things that are exactly the same, they cannot possibly match, no matter how indistinguishable they might seem to be as I drive my mad face down into the sand and sea. Might I come with full Love, or loudly stumble ringside with two corroded knees? Haven’t I done enough to discourage the prowling jackal, held enough air to breathe, left room enough for Love and Peace to thrive in shames bed? I am finished with disgrace! It can howl all night and all day, but I’ve seen and heard enough, lifetimes of regret and woe, it’s time for my Love to reign.
© 2011 by mark prime
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