Wheeling these streets
Faded hues speak.
Everywhere I look
Snapshots spring forward of what used to be
As I hear our younger selves call.
Stories froth within my mind
Leaving me with just as many questions
As I had before I had so many answers;
Where did we go wrong?
Was this God's punishment
That our laborers would be damned
Haunted by our stumblings careless
Intentional with the weight of excuse
That this is a hard world...
The neurosis of my instant self
Against these parched and peeling images
Somehow intently tucked away in my parents closets
Bonded to a degree that to separate them
Would mean a loss of history
Verification
That those captured souls had even existed,
Overtakes me
Rears it's appetite to destroy me
With each new loss
To the former glory
I only now realize we'd existed in...
Wheeling these streets
My routes to expiation explained
I again shift the stitching of my seams.
©2014clarencecbess
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment