Dry Season
Dust storms in my mouth
My words are withered
In the searing gaze
Of her dirty eyes.
I am brittle clay
Parched for renewal
Awaiting the rain.
My walls form a tomb
When she is closed outside
And I am that ghost
That walks out in the darkness.
to Penetrate her seal.
I will Use whatever tool
I can carry for her
Til she is my discovery.
Yet I remember
my carressing her warmth places
That it makes me Unwhole.
What is a desert
Without the sunlight?
Its More like selfless death
So thats how we are preserved.
After such a knowledge, what is forgiveness?
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
It Guides us by our vanity.
She gives when our attention is distracted
And what she gives, gives with such supple confusion
That the giving famishes the craving and Gives it to late
What’s not believed in, or if i just believed...
In my memory only, reconsiders her passion and she Gives it to soon
Into my weak hands, what thoughts can be dispensed?
Till the refusal propagates me to fear.
Neither fear nor courage saves me. Only her natural vices
that Are married by her heroism.
and my Virtues
Are forced upon us by our impudent crime.
for All of These tears that
are shaken from this dry season
|