Unwritten Lament

Thursday, June 15th, 2017 – 12:08 am

“Unwritten Lament”

I regret having
never written anything
I was given a final chance
to speak fire to stone
Hands and feet no more
Or eyes or ears
Yet we endure such screams
and tears and tearings here

What is the point of my story
being carved into lore
if the ones I loved
have all gone before
The more I touched their hands
the more their grip vanished
I loved too deeply and the end
came a final numb greater than
the first contractions and
smothers of suns

I don’t know how I am
supposed to act and feel
stuck here on the cold side
The clarity here is far too acute
You’ll swear minds are
playing tricks on you
You see each chance you had
to touch and love and forgive
and run and taste and breathe
and climb and paint and love
and love and lose and lose
and love anyway, deep and
deeper until your heart breaks

But we kept throwing that treasure
away for crumbs poisoned by
our own apathy and pain
I never took the chances
I spent every sunset and
some wise in a box of my
own build until my windows
curled up and died
That is when I learned
love is real but it was far
too late to pull the blind

The shift is never in
faces or songs
You have never even
heard a real song
most your life long
We only hear pitch and tone of
each other’s souls
We always have
The the char of coals shallow or
blazes cast either way
You see tragic black holes and
glaring unborn stars set in chains
of shame and warning
They call it inspiring
but it all happens too fast

What is important to include
in our unwritten laments
The ones nobody gets to
prepare and present
I’ll burn bright in your meantime
your spinning constellation prize
I heard women gather ’round
talking about a good man and
wondered where we might
find one of them

I died only a fortnight ago
You should have been there
I was warned to cry out
to the rocks that they might
avoid my crushing fate
And the angels said once
in a thousand years
a story breaks free
It bleeds through weights
greater than even loss or love
The devils were woken the same
millennia as their brothers
and gave me the same
warning in blood

They said my story might
rip through the dust and the
gems, cloud and fog of fear
that sleeps within
Both the lightbearers and
forgotten kin warned me this
might happen again
They said my words might
come to life and burn through
my wake three days blind

My story was meant to smoke
and rest with all the others
unspoken, unsung, unnamed
They said my luck would change
I still am waiting single file
for my name flew higher
and souls remixed 
If the guardians of the
stories are true
my useless gray will find
epic wing and ecstasy
as I became new
fire and old phoenix

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