Weaving my Tomorrow

6/10/15

I swim in dirty dish water
and drown in broken mirrors,
bleeding out my poetry
like wildfires
until dandelion fields are left
smoldering
in the ruins
of myself. 

I swallow spoken words
like bread crumbs in a famine,
starving for a substance that
will calm my empty bones
but I'm only left wanting
and needy,
trying to fly with fractured wings  --
watching angels soar above me.

My soul is committed to the sky
but my feet are sinking
in the oceans of tomorrow,
trapped by black silk oil spills that
are choking life from the waters
and robbing hope from the heavens.

I dream in darkness
and dance on open seas,
spinning webs of
abstract confusion
trying to sing
the unspoken
and capture beauty
in a bottle. 

Days are no longer marked
by time, but by how many words
I can weave into wildflower
daisy chains,
and by how many steps it takes
to catch dandelion wisps
at the edge of yesterdays.

I wait on the horizon,
treading dirty dishwater
and dodging broken mirrors...

... for I have bled enough already.