You promised
A lifetime of poetry
Just to leave without
A single line

When I was a kid
The TarMac
Used to slowly weep
Bubbled up in the summer
Like it was seeking relief
We'd gather it up
On the end of lollipop sticks
Smear it on the arms and legs
Of all of our friends
Pretended it torture
Like it was searing the skin
Instead of pleasantly warm
Sweet smelling
Soft resin
The aroma of Cypress
And Cedar
And Myrrh
On those hot seventies days
Without a care.

A strange, dense, heavy word.
Once, graceful and noble
or it seemed to be
until I used it too much.
I know that something fails,
that I’m losing its huge potential.

If I pronounce it aloud
it doesn’t shine anymore for me
in the tiny corners of my mind.
It lingered awkwardly, repeating
“I’m here!”.

The tangled threads
imposing new interpretations.
The materializing weight of sounds.
It's a bitter pill to swallow,
but I know the side effects.

The lightness of the feather
turns into a red brick.
When it hits me,
my inner calm ceases to exist.

I’m struggling to rationalize,
to be more tolerant.
And I just ask myself:
if I truly believe,
why do I say it?

The word so needed,
so loved,
in the silence,
in conviction,
in the presence of no absence.

Something authentic,
wasn’t it meant to be spoken?
So sinister…
it builds and destroys.

The word,

the idea

of




TRUST...