"Thread Between Shears"

"Thread Between Shears"

I am not yet.
I've no regrets
but I need substantiated purpose.
The surface it seems
Is riddled with seams
Yet to be sewn together.
Strewn together like lei
Placed on the broad shoulders of today.
I will but I'm not ready.
Solid rock but not steady
Enough to serve as foundation
To a plantation so stern
For those more concerned
With the porch than the interior.
In perspective I am labored.
In directive I am angered;
Smattering of soulless snide.
I glide till I fall; colliding with walls
Like there's nothing to see.
Consumed by the sea,
I float amid danger.
No semblance of anchor
To ground my leads.
Less painful to bleed
Than struggling to breathe;
But that's what you don't read.
I flail in the wind:
Lifeless leaves swept in autumn.
I break and I bend:
Brittle branches before them.
Can't shout when hollowed out.
No one hears the whispers.
Daybreak robs me of refuge
As if one would enlist her.
The moonlight her sister.
She delights in games
That isolate dire straits
and yield audience to shame;
But I know nothing of shame.
I am merely the frame.
Seldom reinforced shell
That must cope with the hell
Of substance forlorn.
Was once tugged; nearly torn
Between sirens that saw potential
But would not be instrumental
in what would be derived.
I have survived in simplicity;
Implicitly dissecting "complexity"
As if to offer therapy
to those who chose to spare me;
Slighting without first notice
Unconcerned with if I'll notice
As the rapture starts to fade;
Taking form as endless shade.
I am amorphous as well.
My means thrive undefined.
Refined I will not revel.
First place or last level.
As indifferent as the stray
breathes you take before you pray.
I am not okay.
There's nothing wrong with me.
Nothing more to see;
Should you be so endearing to me.
No set of sympathy requested.
I am all but well rested
in the bastion of the uncertain.
I stand before you as curtains:
Differential in displacement.
No candor. No cadence.
I am harmed by uniform.
I am water in spite of order:
Edges singed and steamed;
Evaporating in your dreams
Until what floats near your face
Barely even warrants chase.
Your grace wreaks of pity.
Sullen is the stench of your "contrition."
Conditioned to be on call
For every instance should I fall.
Even learned how to bawl in tears.
I strain to recall the years
Where you clung to authenticity.
The rungs were never slippery;
Yet you descend before me.
You defend and contend.
You ignore me. I am boring
And you are no more than we.
Incomplete with pride so concrete;
Seeking conquer in your wars
But your eyes revere the stars
While your subjects incur scars.
Severed heads in plains you tread
Before returning to your bed.
I am but a limb lopped off
To reveal organs once deemed vital.
All may prod and trifle
And I'll barely feel a thing
Because I am barely here.
So shallow and sheer
That lesser silhouettes are acknowledged.
Tarnish without polish.
Cracks and creases abound
But no creaking sound
warning you to walk around.
I must have purpose to be nervous
and I've never been so brave.
Barely knave behind my loyalty.
No true slave or heir to royalty.
Unfinished I remain.
Wash away the stain
And the film will line your finger
If you let me linger.
So proceed as you've been trained
And employ the fawn you've feigned.
Hide the notions behind names
While true motives flee your brain
And it won't matter all the same.
Some things we don't get
And I could find room for regret;
But I lack form. I will not set.
I am not done.
I am not yet.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz