Fishy-Wishy

Is it simple, the paths you take?, chirp the voices on the wind. If not for you than for who's sake?, I shake my head to no avail An inescapable din. Why do you wander to and fro?, They ask so merciless, precise.   Tell me! Tell me! Do you even know? Why do you take the mountain road, In winter's cold, without a hope? For whom do you carry this load Up sheer cliffs, no pack or rope? “I do what I must! I do what I can.” Your argument does not stand. “I do what's right! I'll help them all.” Then you are doomed to fall. Introspective, I walk alone They need not say more Reticent, no, but rather shown the futility the

The rose tower rises, at dusk, the blood rays of summer, lay parched, scorched across the surface, of rust. The parapets unfurl, their thorns, sullenly plea for trust, Solace, an enigmatic thirst, for scorn. Entwine the buttresses, they dance, piercing themselves they laugh, moonlight, only solemn witness, entranced. Dirt lies virgin to plough, unearthed, the tower's roots encircle, snaking, pitted derelicts of lust, no worth. The hour of the rose, it halts, ceases growth, ebbing dark, shriveled, petals ever grasping, for what?

Adrift, I cast off from nothing and stare at the endless lapping of the sea. Bereft, with enough suffering, the glares still always  collapsing blame on me. Still, I force a laugh. It’s touching, the care they are ever mapping. Set me free. Entrenched in myself, no meaning. This pair of veined, red orbs weeping; they can’t see. Smothered, cloying, rough, this feeling impairs me from thinking who to be. Have I had enough reeling from the wear of all this resolving just to flee? I said to be tough, weeping, who would dare to vindicate loving cruelty?

A penchant pressed against my palm Of hope To still my thoughts. A wind that whistles in the palms; A rote Familiar lot. A token scribbled thoughtless want; Vanished, Tattered, lost A single page took off the wall; Consigned And left to rot And amidst this foreign veil to wander Quite contrare to prior wonder Do I dare to look back now? Can I share? Should I allow? A fellow soul of blemished grace Claims my intention betrays my face But do I dare to stay behind? Learn from mistakes or stay resigned? Amidst dear friends, travel alone, Ever lost and ever borne. To loneliness my message sent, The only solace to my intent

I have no words for beauty's sake, that tilted chin, those eyes… I think back on my past mistakes and smile, for pain denies. It's not these lines across my face, nor those entwining my hands, but the murmured hush of fallen grace, for a tear, for love it stands. Fettered by promise, mirrored by touch, with words that measure the lapse; a chair there is, which remembers much and a room, and grief, and collapse. These fingers grasp inside my skull, thick with want but gentle, deft. A word there is, a murmured lull, the only soft gesture left. A prison of gifts or forgotten things, and untidy, scribbled thoughts, but m

It brings me back some, Linoleum floor, Shoes tap a dirge, cadence slow. The door opens grudgingly With un-oiled shriek, Dogged protest to misused past. The humming lights flicker Sway, wane in the dust With guilt buzz harshly, surprised they still last. I gaze at the consol, its faded black grease, lights blink back dully, empty, meek. I trace my hand 'cross it, The familiar hard lines. It comes back tarnished, trembling, weak. The monitor warbles, It thumps in dismay, Doubtful, unsure, lost, it still seeks. Outdated chrome, Unused to the times, Inane existence, spent, resigned I almost forget, Through the dust, the dim

This circle bleeds without an edge As sanity deprived of thought These fingers grasp a shifting ledge Of ice Of melting frost Of one blank page without a plot This drifting orb of silence dwells As a finger brushed ‘cross lips Froth of enmity laps darkened swells Of lies Of broken truths The blank page folds and rips These nails of darkened earth reside Blind as mountains’ sight that’s felt Resigned that autumn’s leaves confide Of loss Of memory thawed This page lies smote by snow’s first melt Creaking leather aches, recalls Bones of dusty corpse of earth In shrouded cloud, a roiling pall Of love

Words, an effigy of thought burned lost And for what it cost, ‘twas all for naught. Yet as a smothered flame they burn on Like the unheard song of the ceaseless rain Would that I’d listened, would that I’d tried To myself I have lied, to my own soul…sinned. I claim not to forgive nor forget But to my regret, it’s my own life bereaved     So I tell myself my future’s blank, Cling to honor black, to rotten wealth And bequeath to no one, not even I, The gifts I eschew. There’s only to run. Would you forgive me? For I cannot. For all I was taught, I still cannot see. And I keep to myself, keep it a

To what do we owe this epitaph, This last smile unto death, As irony escapes with a blood-frothed laugh? This knowledge is a hidden pool Ignorance holds it’s own wrath Ripples from avarice uncover the fool These platitudes are windows with no glass Hey, at least we have our health? We blithely count sins as the empty days pass We take these words with not a grain of salt Honor requireth truth from last breath Or honoraries, perhaps, carried out with no fault Hateful hounds will haunt us if we do not carry through For even if it kills us, dying whispers be true.

Can a dream of ardor’s fire fade From this icy clutch like melting wax? Vicissitudes like an ephemeral flame… A love that’s turned an onyx shade Just as the shadow covers widened cracks Cerberus guards my treacherous path, A fate of fire with tranquil façade. The shrouded moon threatens to devour my name Soul torn twixt two ineffable wraths, Thoughts that only the devil could laud Resigned remorse for prone dusty love And past strands flicker as smoldering thought Sophistry turns faint at thought of this shame Seven days, pleading, hands held above Like god, a grave new reality wrought Memory coated in frost