Thursday, February 27, 2014

Inappropriate Claim

Haunted by my own reflection
By the shape of my teeth

I am a walking reflection of fragments
That were woven together with love and certainty

I am becoming uncertain

A nervous ship washes along my shore
Within the grains of the wood I make out my age, to the day

Clouds roll a top of the sinking feeling in my guts
Where I stand, I feel the sand between my teeth

I address the sky and it’s inappropriate claim of opportunity and reasoning
Begging for a conclusion that won’t make a fool of me

I want to leave it to those who gave birth to me, hoping it’ll
snuff out the turmoil, bring it’s intensity down to a simmer

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