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If Its Drawn in the Dye, is it Really Such a Lie?

There’s no sense in trying to describe the present

it always runs like dye;

diffused and confused by constant currents

in the river of my mind.

 

Memory is the ferryman

who laughs beneath his breath

each time I seek him, begging

to take me there and back again.

 

He smiles like an old adviser

subject to a child king

and picks up his oars, still dripping

from the last time I came knocking.

 

He never ties his boat

I know why, but he won’t say.

he hopes one day I’ll turn the world

and let the dingy fall away

 

Like a tired tutor ready

to let his pupil fail

he swings a gaze that navy father

would save for son before setting sail

 

Do you find the silence clearer?

He pulls us from the pier.

*Because I won’t bring back

every cricket to your ear?

 

Or does the laughter seem prevailing

when I don’t give you the chance

to collect in such detail

each abundant downward glance?*

 

My finger starts to tap and

I anchor eyes on opposite shore

and clench a fist into the dye

that hurricanes about the oars

 

The bank beyond this river

is salt white washed and dry

and shows off only footprints

I dragged out from tides

Its only touched by water

where I choose to tread

and only on these paths

does the river dye it red

 

I slip into a grin

and Memory sees me smiling

he lets words fall again

with the clatter of iron filings

 

*And how about the nights?

The inky drinks of smoke?

Don’t you see they make my job

No more than ******* joke?

 

The less that I can give you

the more you fabricate.

You sedate your days awaking

to make that other shore ornate.

 

Every day you come to find me

and we cross this boiling stream

to bring you back the torso

of some amputated dreams.

 

I can’t fill in their limbs

so you take them to your cell

and flesh out puppet wings

to play heaven with your hell.

 

You coward of a tyrant

I wish you would realize

the bliss that you remember

is just your best told lie.*

 

Now he leans in close and stops his row

to watch my face unwrap

we drift a muted madman’s pace

till he curls his words into a trap

 

Before he even spoke

I feared the question mark

*Why do you find the weight

So much lighter in the dark?*

 

 

Sometime before we fell

from the river’s mouth to sea

I chewed a knot within my jaw

And squeezed between my teeth

 

a defeated growl of malice

Just keep rowing

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Written by
sean-carnegie-golightly
American
Published
Dec 13, 2011
Lines·Words
78·445
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