Rivers, Rivets and Convergence
We will kneel
With empty hands aloft
As the albatross
Of our grief bears down upon our skulls
And every spoken word
Infringes on the quiet
Each sigh of sweet relief
Rings harsh amid the silence
All well-intentioned
But utterly pointless.
In seamless retractions
Of infinite voids
One whole is the next
The intimate toys with the blasphemed
Creating a kaleidoscope
Of comforting irreverence.
We would speak to vanquish
The still beating hearts
That gather together our tears
In banquets of tourniquet blunder
And the rending leaves every wound fresh,
Even ripe for the plunder of breath
Into staccato, stale breathing.
But speaking is words
An encroachment of order upon
The meandering meadow of chaos
While heartbreak judges itself.
Thus we will stand
With vacant eyes alight
As fragmented hands reunite
With another
Hands raised to banish the oncoming darkness.
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