Who does one confess too?
Are my trespasses severe?
Does victim or perpetrator decide?
What if it was incidental.
Is it ever incidental?
Are thoughts hijacking actions?
Maybe I was unwittingly…
Swirling ghosts of logic rise
Passionate defences whisk them away
I’m a good person..I think
I must be afterall
Doubt wears any executioners hood
Shadows fill noisy jury boxes
Quietness poses as innocence
There’s a mistake here, I know
Calm is missing, as pulses race
Fear vacates my confession
I fall back from atonement
Question of the need
or the want to confess
Anger mushrooms above you
Lava could not be less endearing
Your cape of shards of glass
Dart filled glares and glances
Hostility is your breath
Isolation your destination
Little whisper calls
A flash in the eyes
Nervous energy sparks
It’s the smell of hope
Taste of salt from the beach
Memories make clay of thoughts
Churning inside reaching for daylight
The touch of possible
Stirs lost sensations
Eyes delve for images
Time wisps away from now
Sepia shades of what was once
Crayons outline what could have been
If’s and Why’s dance in circles
Wants and needs choose next colors
Still the whispers persist
Distant dreams vividly wave like flags
Crying out to remind you
Here isn’t a destination but a passage
Faint memories of yesterday
Desperately trying to awaken you
From the sleep we call living
“He was such a shallow man. Always try to show he had risen above hi snake like personality. Glad to see you succumb to illness.” Tina kicks dirt into the open grave. Her pale thin face sneaks a peek at the five other mourners. “It’s go to see you in the hole but it should be much further. I’d put you below Hell. Maybe that’s deep enough.”
Tina fakes a dab at her eyes. “They came just to be sure you’re dead also!”
Her mind weaves circles. The symbols are always there. She wipes her brow and closes her eyes.
The street is far more crowded than she thought it should be. Her fingers lightly squeeze a faded rose in her right hand. A insignificant scent drifts away. Much like Dawn as she finds a bench to hide on.
The city is a curious mystery. Nothing in Coldwater could prepare for the rush and bustle of people and more people. The masses hold a face that is there for her. It was foretold. The circle will be unbroken. Destiny and a purpose awaits her.
Her eyes strip away the faces from the crowd. His dark eyes and hair need to be here. Her soul demands it. Morning melts into afternoon but the faces never change.
She lifts up her backpack and thinks of a place to go. Still the circles are everywhere. She knows he is close.
Distant winds whisper
Quaking branches sing
Green creeps yellow
Cobalt skies appear
Morning chills tease
Autumn is here
“Is there not one crumb of dignity within you?” Her hectic voice screeching.
He barely lifts his head.
Which just enrages her more.
“Nothing to say, huh?” She snaps
Her left hand suddenly rummage within her purse.
Two shots ring out.
A figure covered in cloth falls
I long for simple times
I remember when it was perfect
Being as one without boundaries
Magic lived between what was us
Just to bring that back for a moment
To grasp the raw emotions
No plague of worry or thought
When the mist clears my eyes
A lone thought cries out
How do you recreate
What never was
“Sympathy? I remember sympathy. It was a two way street, once.” Her face stretched and slightly twisted. Shadows fill lines within her face.
“I… I don’t understand…” his voice breaks in disbelief and the hopelessness of being bound. The sleepiness and mix of a pharmaceutical cocktail crawl under his skin.
“I have remembered everything. Particularly, how much sympathy I have seen.” She fractures a small smile. It provides light in a darkened room between two empty souls.
Moments taken for granted
Chances to explore the world
New things to experience
Second guesses over doing
Finite inspiration as motivation
Originally posted on http://project21words.wordpress.com