What we have here is an unlikely return to a time in my life that I'd just as soon remember as a nightmare, and the fight to forget. Which is silly, at best... I've come so far, and gotten absolutely nowhere.
The rolling grape is leaking it's black blood.
The heating element is burned out.
Nothing gets dried here anymore.
Damp and musty inability permeates the atmosphere.
The front door has holes in it big enough to let in spiders and frosty air,
but too small for a single thought to escape.
The struggle is constant, and that's never changed.
The attitude changes like day to night
In and out
A beam of white light at midnight
A total eclipse of the sun at noon
Another liar in my doorway.
Another milky promise gone to spoil.
Another collision of hearts
Another clearing of debris
From another wreckage on another bleached shore
Another assembly of hope
In a painful era.
In a tearful time.
Soaking the wetland.
Salting the earth.