Old Friend


Walking in to the frigid grove of pages

Dry rustling of restless bones like dead leaves…

Yes I have said this before


Skeletal boughs reach like empty arms

And it was so cold

So very cold

That even the meager glow

Of a crooked smile

Was enough to warm me


Down deeper, deeper

Into the depths of me

No sunlight dances here

Where thoughts were so dark

My epiphanies had to evolve

Their own flashlights


Curling inward, a fetal position

Like I was trying to be reborn

Reverting back to seed

As if I could retract the roots

Sent deeply into sterile soil

Cocooned in poetry of self-pity

Struggling to emerge a butterfly


No more, no more

With the out-dated metaphor

Shedding redundancies

Like a snake casting off his brittle flesh

I leave the dead things behind me


No more will I scrawl my graffiti

Upon the expired bodies of trees and hemp

Trying in vain to bestow a bit of beauty 

Upon stark white canvasses

That once danced in the mountain wind


I will pen the space between the stars

My ink will be the shimmer of gasses

Words will sway with the rhythm of spiraling galaxies

There will be no darkness with a velvet kiss

For there will be supernovas and cosmic sun rays

That litter my prose with photons of light

And deadly radiation




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