Visage

I saw your face once before.

Across the meadows of time in an estranged city filled with people who were drowning with things to do and places to be.

I feel so productively arrogant without you. I feel like I cannot stop moving my fingers for if I do, I must remember that I never really knew you. I must be reminded that I fell in love with a comfortable stranger.

I’m not sure of what I am grieving.

Could it be the blurry visions of ecstasy that held us together for so long? Could it be the undercurrent of melancholy machoism? Perhaps it is the fleeting moment under the streetlight when I died in your eyes, and you did not whence.

Are we worthy of remembering? Will everything be oblivion?

Perhaps my face is a carbon copy of paper-thin desires and a misery clinging to pomposity.

After all, misery loves company.

I also feel the deep currents of my storm swallowing me whole. I feel the need to be beautifully broken and wonderfully mad for endurance.

I used to spin around and look up at the sky and wonder why anyone would ever lie. My innocence told me that everyone was good, and the world was pure. Back then I was so sure.

I am my own refuge, of that I am sure.

But Now I look to see fleeting faces who I cannot actually see, and I cannot breathe.

Now,

I feel like fine China in a world where everyone’s pointing fingers, and no one is listening.

Ironic to be like fine China..

We are recklessly abundant.

We do not have to hoard or steal anymore. How can we live so stuck in our vices of opinion? How can we begin to understand our better angels without the mercy of forgiveness of our fellow man?

I want to be able to trust there is a safe keeping for our hearts.

Will we all be damned to exploitation?

There must be a place where I knew you to be sound.

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