cooked whim

how many redemptions tumble through my brain,
there is no loss to the count.
the full nature of a weary back burner
becomes the only burden possible.
did you hear me sing?
once in awhile i dive downward, touching
the bones of silence and mercy.

you feel alone? i have touched
that, too — and it burns like
scalding notes of emptiness.

perhaps the rest is all delusion,
love the biggest liar of them all.

yet my answer, truly; if the soul
sinks into a wealth of despondency —
only needs to flow with caring once again.

every man has control of that, in himself
–it is pointless
to feel beyond help. where are the graven fountains
for expression of grace?

they hide in many places
when reality plunders fear,
yet the greatest fear
is that no one returns
deepest aspects of concern.

so we are kings with no kingdoms —
hearts with no heartening desire.

still… i sing
and remember those missed,
wandering on other hillsides.
beyond trundled weight of caring,
nothing will conquer the hold forever has
to fill silence
and dismiss demons.

to dismiss them!
and end quiet meetings
with despair, using nothing more than
one single memory …because love is all there is
warmed by a tribute that can
only be paid in tears.



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