A slack jawed remark
Snide like arrowheads' edge.
Fiddle with strings
Till betrayal weighs like kedge.
A chatter of bone
Resounding maroon marrow.
Felt pool of faces
Thine abhorrent guess at faro.
Surreal gamble
Of those lives less vital.
Floating catatonic
From a tree in a hyetal.
Whittle and scrape
Flush out this solidarity.
And carry my soul
To an enlightened verity.
I cried because I felt different for some reason.
Maybe you were the sky, enveloping oppressed and oppressors alike. Liken my being to that of a rolling, minor seiche.
You constructed features within myself, with expert craftsmanship. I swallowed gumption with an indigent gulp over a sip.
Or maybe I was wrong all along, tricked by a sleight, a feint or a song.
Maybe you barred my path with your blindness, when I just wanted to get back home.
These nights are longer than ever, and more pitch than I have ever known.
Maybe my idle made me a solemn simplicity, a target for such oppressive moves, or were those simply your tendencies?
I cried because I did not know, I cried because you felt different for some reason.
