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
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.