POETRY

The Longest Road

Speaking to listen

I can’t stay until I can go I can no longer be who you know I can only ask the moon to consume me while I’m mostly alive with a heartbeat fast enough for these old grooves to turn dials toward forgotten sides to catch my motions outside since it seems my atlas has long set sail for static oceans and beaches three shades from frozen fermenting black sands questioning grief and concepts of escaping time

Fires bleed flames and doubles as darkness like a throne to stones on a path that is as deliberate as it is delicate so it fades beyond the past as I pound cement to pulse pain effortlessly dripping from my bloated burdened veins

Today I heard myself speak with the rains while winds whipped northward gains and now I pierce myself with reminders adorned in faded embers of ashen grey melting over clouds that never see the light of day but never apologize for being alive just to weep wonders about what’s left inside while memories of me will soon decay into two sides of one blended story not written with words but in shapes of collective eyes overflowing with shards of pride and glory and long-lost messages in a bottle already swept out to sea