"The Blackout Part 1: Residual"
Fruit from the vine
plucked after setting it ablaze.
Not phased by this wine
and it's scorched notes so heavy.
I'm forever ready
but can't even pace myself.
Not for sake of lost control.
Just constriction in my role.
Slow roll offers conniptions for commitment,
some restrictions I can't get with,
lustful thoughts I lay here sick with
and no perfect setting to ask why.
Diverted eyes away for moments
but made time to take a glance.
Glance by my fixed definition.
More like staring in contradiction.
Diction my explicit act
When I want that old thing back.
I would write until I pass out
and daydream until I black out.
Responsible for what I say in confidence.
Compliments while endearing to the past
earn a leering from the present.
Presented with opportunity.
Once unity forlorn and torn
into chunks of fast melting confection
by those scorned for sake of affection
have become sought after connection.
I have to watch what I tell you
because lord knows I'm a bad habit.
Had it in the worst way on the wrong days
but it was the very best in awhile.
Just wait for the street lights.
Nights like this with wrists so weary…
bound by exhaustion, overworked often,
won't be long before snoring.
Time worth exploring thoughts
we never had to speak.
Tension peaks to serve purpose.
Bright becomes dim after limbs stretch.
Time stamps stressed in importance.
Before this, we would never cross paths.
I still sometimes wonder if it's too much.
Too much to ask of my eyes
closed thinking about thighs
no longer my own……………
…………ask about how you're living.
Not if I'm forgiven.
Just some time to reminisce
is all I need to give in
and you plant them carefully.
Those subliminal seeds.
You strike a pose to curl my toes
and give me what I think I need.
You don't care about what I want.
Daunting when you flaunt
and place it all before me;
nearly inviting me to address you openly.
Act like you don't know
and I'll show you a little.
Play around until I frown.
Hands down.
Lower.
Imagine my strength within your grasp.
Clasp crossed legs like big business.
Penciled in this meeting.
Greeting an existence that I tried
so hard to see as grotesque
when I fantasize of you at best.
Fresh the flavor of your flesh.
Between yawns we disappear
until we know the coast is clear.
Kept no vast account of fear.
Secrecy runs far and near.
Sought after this much for years.
Tears we've cried diluted pride
and our will to confide in others.
Full of old feelings left to smother us.
Violently choking on it all.
Guilt to the hilt.
Playing with the blade
under the wiles of nightly shade.
We come in waves to overwhelm
as if blatant at the helm
casting all we stand to lose
to the floor next to the shoes.
Nights this busy.
Agenda unspeakable
when addressing the unreachable.
Seemingly, at least.
On bouts of confidence we feast.
We decide if this will cease.
Quite refined yet savage beasts
dashing peace in search of piece……
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Autumn Drapes"
You never seem this open in person.
My mystery pronounced intrigue.
Deceived the overtly ambitious…
…delicious fragments of your nature
I collect in obscurity.
Certainly, there is purpose in displacement.
Certainty is the fact I long to taste it.
All of it, honestly.
All that my honesty won't acknowledge.
Every remnant in your wake.
Awakened to the scent
I've imagined you would trace
walking into crowded rooms
or an open office space.
We've only shared proximity
proportionate to that of
this window pane and that turning lane.
You sit across the street.
Only twice we've come to greet
with a glance, a wave, a smile…
…all the while wishing and wondering.
You don't normally do this,
do you?
Not that it shows.
Not like everyone knows.
Intrigue the greatest muse.
Inspiration courageous in this setting.
Forgetting what to say on the way.
Paved the way atop wonder.
Raw form.
Less room reserved for charm.
More for insatiable enchantment.
We lay flat with intention undiscovered.
Uncovered more remnants to savor.
Flavor rich but not transparent.
The only apparent notion
is that emotion preserves drive.
If I might dive, I hope to see
what you were bound to save for me:
fancier of precious notes
soaked in wishful thinking and desire.
Lest you judge me,
I have no regret to face.
Faced with the choice
of imagination or affirmation,
let the former set the pace
for the latter to take it's place.
We will chase uncertainty
until deliberate means manifest.
Limbs stretch wide, perched high
where clouds rival shoulder blades.
Gentle wind acknowledging sweaty legs.
Arms loose like the first lift.
Gift from the skies matching teary eyes.
Cries mark progression and possession fully.
Unruly interaction.
Actions never outlined better than now.
Moments in this mind
carving out portions of time
hopefully revisited in frequency.
Frequently enacting what I've only dreamt of.
Clothe the window.
Seal with shade.
Set aside the time we've made
bring priority to fruition.
Dirty decadence distorted.
Pushed past all limits purported
by those seeking brief encounters.
Slick your tracings on my counter.
Smeared across my clothes.
Streaming between finger tips
Playful pecking at your lips.
Didn't have to hold your hips.
Gripped my mind and left behind
more than I would hope to find.
with recollection this refined,
I've found time to part these blinds.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Propriety"
Possession is nine tenths
yet your hands look disgusting.
Decrepit and dirty,
flirting with butter until
slick enough to impose will
and appear to stand still.
Slipped past door sils
without breaking the locks.
The grey fox is no blood hound
and since that dog won't hunt,
you can no longer front.
About face, soldier.
You are much older than the method.
New tricks and predictable manuevers.
Rumored to leave patterns.
Crossed familiar terrains flatter
than the evidence of your return.
Bridges burned in your wake.
Shook off the ashes, slight gashes
barely kept under disguise...
...your eyes betray your intent.
You believe you were sent
to fulfill a purpose seldom shown
for that which has never grown.
Attempt to cultivate your craft
among the magistrates that laugh
at your lack of style or flare
and you are bound to wonder where
you left your dignity after all.
After wire tapped phone calls
and that first search warrant,
you've become a little more abhorrent.
The cloth will surely smudge
but the torrent will not rinse away.
Before you even think or budge,
you should plan your getaway.
Since you were stealing anyway,
why not just ask for what is yours?
Instead, your pride gets in the way.
You find yourself on all four.
Behind the couch, the light is out
and all the action is dead.
Like a needle awaiting thread,
you take your time as you tread.
Under my bed you find the box.
You pick the lock. Forget keys.
Upon your lap lies your own trap.
You're bound and strapped at the knees.
I may want to negotiate
if you play nice and say "Please."
Not by my hands. Please understand:
I'm not the taunt nor the tease.
You've paved the way for your dismay.
An easy story to tell.
You've forged a path in disarray.
Who couldn't follow the trail?
Who wouldn't pick up the smell?
Funk of the frail high and mighty
who might be on the fence
like locks that dangle unclenched.
Made nothing common of sense
from a long line of demanding
substantial marks upon their names
who boast of their understanding.
What you lack you say you've claimed.
This your true measure of fame.
Infamous your times of quarrel
where you display insipid morals.
I will not rue this tomorrow;
so take back what I won't borrow:
Make way for the wasted time.
Every trinket. Every dime
spent in vain in chase of me.
All this useless vagrancy.
Make room for complacency.
Chances you had to run free
were lent to your latency.
Facing me in pain, you'll see
how far your efforts have been wrought.
Thought does nothing to improve
one who will not make a move.
It would behoove you to pack heavy.
Arch your shoulders.
Nice and steady.
Possession is nine tenths.
Reclaim everything you've sent
amid your deceitful purpose.
No receipt for your purchase.
Your life's service a lie
and you will be tried.
Crying like you've never shown it.
No denying that you own it.
Blown it further than expansion.
Locked you up within your mansion.
Thin the walls that echo shame.
Walls created in your name.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Cliffhanger"
Don't pull me up.
I've grown fond of this angle.
I can see so much more
from this ledge where I dangle
and I'm sure I'll fall soon
but before I do,
I will peer into the skies
for what runs away from the moon.
Eyes wide before departure.
Sport for the archer
hoping that I hang on a little longer
while taking aim at my heart.
I drew it all in parts:
One in admission of guilt.
One in need of thrill.
Two equal parts ill will
with both sinking fast.
Pile driven pulsations.
Downward spiral that will last
long enough to witness the crash.
Cashed out but bought in.
Sold out to souls thin enough
to see through the rough clearly
hiding the worn and the weary.
Nearly lost my grip
but no quiver in these lips.
Thoughts begin to flip
to those who wish to stand here
near the brink of futility.
Mysterious and magical.
Fanatical in flocks
just to perch upon rocks
for the ill fated photo opp.
Royal prowess through the lens.
Hash tagged the latest trends
and shared it with their favorite friends
that they barely ever speak to.
The growing need for the cusp
means nothing to one on the edge
and here I am beneath this ledge.
Once pledged my life
to a sense of security.
If it lacked congruency,
then it never knew of me.
Coincidental how the new in me
drew no contempt from truancy
pertaining to my direction.
Each emphatic inflection
would affirm the guilt in me.
Ink I've spilt to see
if it truly shares consistency
with that of bleeding limbs.
Hymns I've sung in earnest
line the logs within my furnace.
My ingrained book of lies
offer embers to the skies
and I flail like every page
in this wind and every phase
in which time dissolves my will.
We hunger for thrill;
but know nothing of the potency.
Openly we fasten to restraints
without the sufficient strength
to simply admit that we can't.
We cannot stay strong.
We cannot hold on.
We will not hold fast
to that which will never last
sure to outlast groundless efforts
concentrated upon deserts
further than vision would suffice.
Cling to that last shard of ice.
Only then will you begin.
Subtle grin held deep within
layers woven by the skeptic
who have yet to fully accept it.
Tarry long and you will stay.
Carry on along your way
lest you hope to end this day
hung high with nothing to say.
Prayed for penance. Never peace.
The vicious cycle will not cease.
Yearned to trifle with advisement.
Learned to scoff at all chastisement.
Let the renegade have reign.
Made no provisions for pain.
Lonesome legs lay sacrifice.
Now this moment is my vice.
I will not dangle forever.
Thought that this was all for better
than the time I'd never reserve.
Lent my boastful tone some words.
Struck a pose and called it something.
Wiser mouths could tell me nothing.
Stood here at the summit struggling.
Winds of change that sent me juggling.
I truly do love this angle.
Leave me be. Let me dangle.
Mangled, marred your point of view.
Oh the horrors they imbue…………
……………pulse of spirits lacking patience.
Frantic means. Can't wait to make this
moment epic and exclusive.
From this height, all is elusive.
Everything except the fall.
In the air we lose it all.
All of that lustrous ambition
in the place of admonition,
through the air one's fate recalls
every chance you had to crawl;
pacing steps safely near summit.
Brasher bearings ensure plummet.
Air locked tear ducts. No more crying.
Being pulled as if you're flying.
Thoughts evaporate with timing.
All except those before dying.
Pulled myself up in time to view
what was surely intended for you.
Never took the time to respect this ledge.
Better over the top than over the edge.
Appreciate the view from your angle
and if you should ever dangle,
be sure to improve your sight.
It may be your last chance to stand upright.
Don't fall.
Please. †
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Jury Duty"
You believe I'll Lie
yet you still say "Hi"
and if I pass by
without asking why,
then I've revealed my subscription?
And I can't say "no,"
can't board, walk or park in place
and I can't pass go?
Can I at least borrow a dollar?
Judgement warm under your collar
but you won't make change.
You deposit some conviction
with no bank in range.
Please accept this as valediction.
You are no doubt studious
but you won't like my diction.
Dubious your tradition.
It drives me up the wall
and crashes me into the pavement.
Nerves under swerve
and you can't handle the clutch.
Navigate much? Trick question.
If you've truly learned your lesson,
your path would be indicative of such.
Now I'm sure I sound absurd
so you peel back the plot
to expose my words
for the sake of your labels.
You've found solace in the fables
you have claimed as fact
and those who would react
find themselves right back
to the root yet to be dislodged.
Fastened to stints of grief
is a window from which
you have drawn your belief.
Mind and heart must collaborate.
Neither must saturate the other
lest one tries its best
to calibrate the other.
At that point, it would make sense
to cast both asunder
when what one calls correspondence
looks a lot like abscondence.
Now we lose communication
if it resembles litigation.
You won't budge and I won't nudge.
Told you I'm not here to judge
but I'm keen on observation.
Always searching for the facts
beneath everything we lack
and I know you'd do the same.
There is a differential, though:
Institutions you have named
just to mar them in persistence
will endure your flawed existence
and my purposeless retort, seemingly.
It would seem to be
an exercise in futility
to expound on one's ability
to denounce another willingly.
We converse to save face
yet we grow weary from the pace.
I rest my case.
I've taken my turn.
Court adjourned.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Secret Hiding Face"
I'm so far behind my dreams;
and the ones that involve you
leave me unraveled at the seams.
Bunched up.
Hunched over.
Legs stuck.
Fell over.
I just hope I'm still falling;
because if I should land
then I demand that vicinity endears me.
I want to see clearly that which I covet.
Above it all you stand:
atop every command,
any plan,
any vision I've commissioned
for the sake of tradition…
…yet you rest under admission.
I wish to profess
but I could never express
lest I brandish transgression
like a weapon never used
fused with reckless abandon and traction.
You are my favorite distraction.
Nothing of novelties that of pearls
but more like places in the world
I thought I'd never reach.
And if these words must be swallowed
lest my stomach becomes hollow,
I sit here anxious awaiting your speech
to the chagrin of starvation.
So rich your fervor like animation
imparting imagination to me
like past moments forever new.
I sit here often stoic yet softened for you.
Heroic to those who need me.
Just Poet to those who see me
the way that you do.
I weave through lines just fine
but can't read them to you.
I knead some through you.
I press them down.
Depressed and drowned in brine.
Regression to a time
when admiration had few names.
This hood placed above my brow
Is my only option now.
How I tread slight and steady
Indicative of whether I'm ready
For what is rendered in perception.
Discretion never under seizure.
Quite the feat for the believer
unafraid of what remains to be seen.
I have been to the edge of affirmation.
At the summit I have closed my eyes
To awaken on the pavement.
The leap came with no instruction
Per the art of introduction
But I was brave.
No induction.
Nothing governed.
Through feelings we are enslaved.
Time will pave the way.
What we learn today
Cannot speak about tomorrow.
Anticipating sorrow staves enchantment
But the relaxed may face entrapment
in the face of humiliation.
Awkward interpretation.
Words that shouldn't need translation.
Maturation at it's peak
Yet and still I barely speak
Without weakened knees and grinning,
heavy breaths and blood thinning.
Wish to tell you how I feel.
Funk of fear so rank and real.
Wish to capture what I've missed.
Wet this air. Despair so brisk.
I just wish it were outlined.
Much maligned without the signs.
Signs I'd love to light and linger
Yet I sit here biting fingers…………
…………………………………I like you.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Currency"
Haven't made sense since
there was sense to be made.
Offered me your two cents
like there's rent to be paid.
Kept your pennies in my pocket
where I used to keep your locket.
Picture frame full of shame.
Not one photo. Just two names.
Haven't made sense in awhile.
Tried to make some of the trials
but if this ended sensibly,
I doubt there would be much to see.
I sense longing in your torment:
signature of recent moments
when we were one in the same.
We still love to play these games.
It would appear that we stand
only to show how far we'd fall.
Still haven't made sense of it all
but if you care to recall,
we are the structure with no walls.
The silence in the halls.
The often unheard mating call
that can't travel through the squalls.
We are something else
and absolutely nothing sensible.
Affirmation for the cynical
that delight in being critical.
Sensual but not serene.
Centrifugal without the beam.
Downward spiral sitting clean
with the nerve to have a gleam.
Glorify the shattered dreams.
Dance in frantic jubilation.
Rip the woven at the seams
and illicit some gyration.
Since only we understand,
Sense will follow our command.
Spread the scent no one can stand:
Dirty shekels in your hands.
Stench of sex and groundless lust.
Needless moments deemed a must.
Aftermath where all is hazy
and the heart has become lazy.
"Baby" beckons no reply.
There's no time to dry your eyes.
All the lowly left to die
hover over you like flies.
No country for your contrition
due to your true lack in vision.
You won't look past lover's lane.
Lessons you won't learn again.
Splitting time with window panes
and the sane that mock your madness
but at least you know you have this.
All say no. How many say yes?
Wonder if you've wondered since
your last campaign for recompense....
once thought pensive in your process.
Hid the bulk and said a lot less.
Nothing honest on display.
Rather senseless your delay.
Truly listless I will stay
'til you decide to steal away.
We make the mess then wipe it clean:
caution to the wind obscene
enough to make one question life
and every tall order for strife.
Borrowed time we've never lent.
Came up short searching for cents
for understanding seldom spent
on what may never make some sense.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Trick Mirrors"
Knuckles made of brass
And the past that I slept on.
Girls who grew up fast
Want the men that they crept on.
Blast from the past.
Buckshot from the future.
Gain financial aid
But the governor abused her.
Sum of the slums
Equivalent to the navy.
Can't deny Brenda's baby.
Dad's name was Marcus, maybe……
Lady draped in red.
Tattoos to her ankles.
Can't seem to stay fed
but you can't miss her navel.
Thank God for W.I.C.
And the welfare assistance.
Four letters spell F.E.M.A.
Acronym for the resistance.
Chose politicians
but we can't spell their names.
Created this system
Just to cast more blame.
Bolster the backlash.
Protect the last stash
With what remains of your life.
Starve you child. Beat your wife.
Brag about the struggle
Like the frat and sorors.
Outline the maligned
After plotting out the scars.
Death after last breath.
Meth and the pistol.
Land ruled over jewels
And thick women named Krystal.
Blood on the pavement.
Tears in her eyes.
We race to the scene
But won't respond to her cries.
Long walks initiated on streets.
Downwards spiral of deliberate fashion
Fashioned to forge forks in the road.
Penitentiary perdition or deadly destitute.
Truth told to closed hearts
And ears that widen selectively.
Collectively protesting another's roots
Whilst clinging to the stoop.
Rarely bread and fruit
but surely loose cigarettes and loot
From those we spitefully purport
While we sit on the porch.
Proud to be until we
Encounter one who can't see
How one wouldn't grasp at straws.
We mask our flaws in mockery.
No support for the survivor.
Those who make it out
Face our groundless doubt
Because they aren't what we're about.
The crab and the barrel
brimming over. Spilling over.
Those fortunate to grow older
Wish their younger days were sober.
Somber feeling with no healing.
Dealing with the lowered ceiling
pressed against new generations.
Never ending conversations.
Persecute them for their music.
How that wear it. How they do it.
Disgusting gyration movement
But no basis for improvement.
Parents left to wonder why.
Scrape acceptance. Smear the lies.
Damned to disgrace and defile.
Fuel for copious denial.
Toil and trial in self defense.
Intermingle with the fence.
Still a month behind on rent.
Pitching fits as wide as tents.
Fifty dollars in your purse.
There was more before the thirst.
Can't afford the change in price
But each first sip feels so nice.
No ice. No milk. No care.
Broken barrettes in their hair.
Skin so shiny, smooth and fair.
Not your daughter. Wouldn't dare.
Not unless you're there to see.
Not where you thought you would be.
Gave your future to their father.
He truly couldn't be further
From the angry son who chose
to put back on those same clothes
and take risks on crowded corners.
Addict mother hugs the corner.
Lost her before he was twelve.
Keeps her picture on the shelves
high enough for him to reach
Cash from the last deal he breached.
Teach the preacher. Predict time.
Find it all amid the rhyme.
Reason washes nothing clean
If one will not change the scene.
So much made of class
and the time that we slept on.
Flowers wither fast
Only after they are stepped on.
Tread in consideration of generations.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Red Wine"
Documented my patience.
Watch me race after venom
But not the water to chase it.
All my selfish decisions
Obscure but clear in my vision
Especially when we're throttled.
I love when you grab that bottle
and pour yourself a glass.
Nothing less than buxom.
Sat here by your lonesome.
Knees together
like they want some attention.
Complimentary tradition.
I love to sit and listen.
Thoughts that swirl and sometimes glisten
While you take your little sips.
Dripping from your lips
Are things you'd only say influenced.
So fluent that I understand your plight.
Came over every night
Just to increase your selection.
No true thirst for deception.
No desire to slight detection
Although we fluctuate our pace.
Simplistic direction:
Pop the cork and fill your face
With fermented notes once graced
by the hands of every place we've never been to.
I love what you're in to.
This just might offend you
But that next glass just might bend you
Over like the mind of most men do
And I can't say that I'm different.
Just fortunate you've befriended.
Can't offer you past amendments
but we could possibly dine.
Summer salad is fine.
I like Italian on mine.
I arrive before nine
But there's no dinner. Just wine.
You've been dreaming.
Lights are gleaming.
Slowly speaking.
You've been drinking.
We've been thinking.
Barely blinking.
So much plotting.
So much scheming.
All is steamy.
Pass the glass.
This tastes creamy.
Brought my flask.
Left the cork back on the porch.
Skipped past dinner. Tossed the fork.
Made a violent mess of things.
Left some blotches on the strings.
Couldn't get all of the stains.
Poured stale portions down the drain.
Soaked brains slip from the last sip.
Eyes grip like palms around the cork.
Plunged into our thoughts
Twisting firm with desire.
Floated higher through the pain
Spilling over us like rain.
Watched you strain just to cascade
So I cast aid to your vigor.
Far too parched to let it breathe.
Sat it down and let you seethe.
Merlot splashed over malice.
You don't wonder when
You'll crack that chalice.
You just pour it in.
I can't watch
But I return each day.
Wick placed under sober means.
Remember how they burn away
And fade slowly?
You know me enough
To take in my advisement
and hammer out the chastisement
until all that remains is enticement.
And we wonder where the lights went
When we only see the red.
When we sink into the bed
Amid this life so many dread.
We are free to clear our heads……
……Have another glass instead.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Marzipan"
Sheets sticky with indulgent streaks
that Tide's extra strength will never Gain.
Delightfully dirty this mind
recalling each delicious stain.
The strain of overflowing.
The constant pain of knowing
just how long it would last.
I'm chasing remnants of our past.
If I chip away,
I will save all of the crumbs.
There isn't much to say
between index and thumb
and the tongue that licks them clean.
This blood boils over your body oil.
Had endless dreams about your hair sheen.
Imagining every last scene.
My malted milky mallomar........
you made me travel so far.
Spent some ages down south.
Made some sense of my mouth.
Laid renewal upon shoulders of the willing.
Me.
He who would bridge tooth and sink nails
until your ship began to sail.
Frail I look in perception.
Rugged in appearance.
Appealing to potential clearance
but can't shake the interference.
Peruse my path without a cane.
Kept it narrow. Made it plain.
My desire never sane.
I'm licking my fingers again.
Do you ever wonder?
How often do you notice?
We have displayed it certainly.
I lay here next to uncertainty
and I am forever restless.
My best wish and worst fear
would be to draw you near.
That in mind, I want you here.
You need to know.
I've so much to show you
but that moment would be brief.
I may never stave this grief......
I've fashioned you in flavors:
labored in silky ribbons
stretching over every cloud,
proud to dip and drip with purpose,
feigning nervous with precision,
splashing wild into these palms
with no calm before the storm.
Spent my time trying to stay warm.
Night is coldest under covers.
Enticement hovers in my torment
and the torrents mar my vision.
All I want I have envisioned:
melting long enough to linger
but you still elude my fingers
as you coat my mind again.
It all rinses in the rain.....................
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Everything In Between"
Looked truth in the eye.
Hoped to catch it in its lie
But my aim shrouded my focus.
Through this aversion, I have noticed
That some ends only exist
To take us back to the origin.
Those who finish and persist
Will eventually be born again.
The path in between
Be it far from pristine
Seldom completely clean in nature
is still meant to be savored.
From the late text
To the latex,
to the lack thereof
To the mutual evidence of love
Rest moments likely reserved
for those who will preserve
And promote what they hold dear.
Far before the fear
Are the days measured in breaths.
More exhales per hour
For those riddled with regret.
Patience coincides with power
Needed to cultivate our youth.
Seedless membranes yield strange fruit;
But the lush will land with grace
Lest they prefer landing on their face.
Origin perceived serpentine
Up until light peers through the cracks.
Acts formed around one's younger years
constantly in the mouths of mothers
And the ears of jealous brothers,
covetous aunts and worrisome grandmothers.
Mother defined by daughter's expanding mind
Sure to be judged on what she finds.
The avenues are endless.
None are sinless. No one sins less.
Men less concerned will not discern
Between her origin and her departure.
Her forfeiture dependent on what she shares.
Her survival contingent upon her care.
Growth forged from what dashes despair.
Her hair the hourglass of her existence.
Early persistence some claim as reward
Paid back as penance to become wards;
Wrought under the watch of those wise
Enough to cloak their eyes
And present it as her shelter.
How they aim to swarm.
They embrace her skin so warm
With no beseech. Just breach and harm.
Far from grace many will fall
Yet among some, many stand tall
Not for sake of survival stories
Or the spoils of grieve and glory.
Simply just to trace the path
Set forward from looking back
To observe how little matters
And how much less should be gathered.
Here she counts her months in laughter
and her years in wholesome chatter
Between the mother she calls daughter
And the child she prays for much harder.
Her glasses rest in place.
The frame perfect for her face.
A lifetime of knowledge traced
by wincing eyes still giving chase
To every single moment around her.
She would raise a loving mother
Whom she hopes would raise another.
They will one day become her.
I used to hope that I would be
Around long enough to see
Just how much they've grown to be
The symbol of love laying before me.
I looked her in the eyes.
Never could catch her in a lie.
There is much mangling of truth
But what is certain never dies.
Its origin is as vast
As the path that it purveys.
How long what manifests will last
Is written in each hourglass.
Every strand beneath a comb,
every doll on makeshift thrones,
every tea pot in the home
And rocking chair now left alone.
Every single chastising tone
Over scratches and broken bones
And that distinct, familiar tone
When we would talk on the phone.
Every wife is not a mother.
Some sisters have no brothers.
Some grandparents are no longer around;
But what I have surely found
Is the truth that what we see
Was and is and will soon be
For what has left us in the end
Will certainly return.
Reborn again. †
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
