the ground below-where my feet tread,
the soils that should-exhibit mud,
feels like-watery substance,
and so-this is not strong foundation,
and slowly-but certainly,
this journey will,
i kneel as though-to motion prayer,
my lips as if-quivering whispers,
my arms extend to-sky blue heaven,
is but-mere pretension,
is but a desolate cry,
of broken man,
of wounded child.
was there a time when belief-was certain,
asserts my thoughts-to hollow reason,
did i possess not words uplifting,
they taste now all,
a bleeding red.
i long for-arms extending,
for care to kiss me-on my cheeks,
the gaze of beauty-to mend the weak,
but alas-i say to my soul,
it has been-dispossessed.
we are all-but mire,
one day we stand-in escalation,
we kiss the soil-we stand,
how fleeting are smiles,
we thought would last, forever,
your careless whisper.