Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Human Fledgling

I'm cutting the threads.
Well, I've given up the scissors
To a more talented seamstress.
One with more training.
Infinite knowledge is so much more than
I could ever collect.

Oh how it hurts me to watch the
Rain blur the images of the photographs of my mind's eye.
I can't feel the electricity whirring in their minds.
I can't hear the voices leading them to choices and dreams.
I can't feel the ache and the hiding of their emotions.
Truths and lies mean nothing, if I suppose.

I'm riding away on the dark carriage.
I can smell the dust on my horses haunch.
Cold sweat on his warm coat and the pulsing of his veins
Ground my feet when I rub his shoulder.
I know we are talking with our eyes with the language void of words.
He massages my heart and maple syrup coats the creaky spots.

Voice streams through the holes in the receiver microphone.
Is this a story of an entertainer I do not know that
Tugs my tendons with a silent plea of loneliness?
I can listen when I'm severed.
Words get scrambled in translation.
When I forget to breathe, it hurts. 

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