Within the Shards

There is a doorway i cannot see

where it may lead

it is nowhere that i have travelled before, i am quite sure

although unsure

this feeling flips , trips and hopskips through the chambers of heart

not fear that beating heart is feeding

unsteadiness , unreadiness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Will readiness ever really be prerequisite

and yet the belief holds like glue

to keep me stuck that much is true

and here is a thing that is another

how much is ‘that much’, really not one thing or another

that much true glue may reveal the seal

the house of cards came tumbling down, no deal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crazing to cracks, cracks to fractures

now the whole bone exposed

dismembered right down to the marrow

feather picking my way about the debris i pluck gnaw chew

amputate masochistic pleasure as i self flagellate

ashes turn to dust and as dust settles

i seek ways to find that the soft tissue of me tastes rather delicious.

 

White Raven  17:06:2020 Poetry is from the heart , a form of art , an expression born of an emotion in time. If you care to share then from my heart to your heart please do and always credit the artist.