Stepping over forgotten feelings,
Lingering doubts
Feed the rivers of anxiety,
Tilting windmills sit lazily
Atop the ruins of dead bodies,
Bones bleached by the sun
Fertilize tomorrow’s narratives
As words predict what we think
And the bloodstains of the mind
Clarify the gospels of truth
Found inside consciousness
Like steppingstones, barely
Visible and necessary to keep us
From stumbling over ourselves.
6April 2020
No comments:
Post a Comment