Violet in the Weeds

Violet in the Weeds

~

These visions I made somehow aren’t poisonous.

They seem so, anyhow.

The streets are lined with shadows that lurk

inside my hidden

scar.

They keep on scrawling all the walls in black ink,

leaving their angry scent of spoiled

meat.

Black as dead of night.

And the winds are blowing in a different way now.

In a more delicate, delibrate

direction now.

Much softer than before.

But, no one seems to notice the

morning light or sunlit

leaf.

No one takes the time to see.

The clouds are passing overhead now.

They aren’t going far, just over there beyond the trees.

I see them, even in the void, in

that eternal blank

Stare.

They seem to me like angels dancing in the dark

and never seem to fall.

No, they keep on moving forward toward the

light.

Passing all the drunkard streets and crimson nights red with

blood.

And they say to themselves,

"What ever happened to resiliant pines and the Godsent

delicately-natured

Sprouted violets?"