Sunday, December 20, 2015

"Shoelaces"

"Shoelaces" 

Standing still in this place.
This face full of creamy skin.
Hue assured as milky
complete with hair this silky
whether short,
straight
or stringy. 


You. 

The often romanticized dream
I can now proclaim as real.
Everything we feel
as new and sudden
as the first chance.
Short glance before I step away
telling myself
"enough today"
as if I stand in compliance.
Still shots of you in silence
stir in me the dirtiest of violent thoughts.
Power uncommon
coursing through the overlooked. 


You. 

Never overwhelmed
at the helm of life.
Strife still stings
but you tie those strings.
Trifling things
but you tie those strings.
Pain attached
but you break that latch
and you scrape and scratch
and you peel that back. 


Does it feel like that when....?
I imagine.
I've.....imagined.
Fantasized honestly. 


I've seen
vandals in sandals
no more fit for the mantle
than that which collects dust.
The must of their tread
wreaks of ambition driven stale.
Ankles pale from lack of circulation.
Interpretation of mid-climb
forever forging a position
construed for blaming time
for the self served transgression
known as lack of progression. 


I've witnessed the witless.
Skipping in slippers.
Sipper of the cheapest brand.
Calloused hands
hug the plastic bottle.
Full throttle past the tonsils
Enter route to the liver.
Giver of tales
from years no longer recent.
Decent in self perception.
In their mirror a reflection
of what would have been
and what used to be.
Used to see
the opportunity in all things.
Now the lonesome heart sings
as the mind sways,
mumbling. 


Stumbling upon your design
is for the fortunate among us
and I'm still rubbing my eyes.
Clouds that drift this high
find time to displace.
God's grace
bathing over you in layers
thick enough to taste days away.
Words I've yet to say
never make it past my grin.
Smiles that mix the love within
with a bevy of new sins
we've enjoyed a hundred times
and then
for as long as my imagination lingers. 


Fingers formed for knots
that flip flops know nothing of.
Bare or gloved,
those hands reach
across each impedance
with the will to find balance.
Challenged daily
by those falling,
sailing,
flailing laces. 


Places like this
where my mind could slip
into the deepest sleep
if it meant our hearts could creep
closer with each nightly stroll.
Time took its toll
but the moments are worth a ransom
just to have some sensation. 


To feel your grip.
Your twist.
Your tuck between loops
circling hoops that trace this
precursor for the pace
where I can stand in place
hoping this life would take the time
to just embrace your face as I do
instead of trying to
outrun,
outlast
or simply look past it. 


Maybe we'll create new habits... 












Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

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