In the madness, I found clarity
The singular eye in the storm
rolling and twitching
Promising pain and whispering understanding
And with that clarity
I stood laughing
Blood soaking my hands
The storm is peaceful
I look up,
and see nothing but carnage sky

There is a desolation to grief
Hidden, buried
Rotting and writhing in the depth of the soul
And no one can see the blackened heart
Aching and curing in tears of salt

There is a wrenching to pain
Gripping, seeping
The infection and corruption of touch
Like everything could crumple
And everyone can break

There is a madness to comfort
Clinging, blinding
Feeling closer to light, to wind
Crawling up a staircase
Of bodies you’ve dragged in pursuit

There’s a silence to acceptance
Waking up from a puddle of blood and spit
Finding the faces that mouthed your name
Moths, circling the lightbulb
In your own rusted cage

Not all poetry work
and not all poetry speak
but somewhere
out there
there’s a word or a phrase
that will let you learn
how to cry again

sometimes the wind picks up all the leaves
that fall from my bark and land on my knees
and all that ive thrown and all ive suppressed
gets blown back at me in my own little mess
and the rain didnt help for the rot in the muck
and now all that i see is the pain i had held
and for some Forsaken reason my
hands touch no sky
for the Grey is above and it taunts me and lies
and i thought my roots had found peace had Found truth
in the Depths of my earth
In the Silence And my youth
But it turns out compression of rock is disturbed
And now the Soil kicks
and now the ground Jumps
and The storm it yells victory in the ocean and Rust
And my body it cracks to show all of the space
where i thought homed tranquility but out birthed my rage
and All the times I’m Empty
and all the Times i smile
all false propaganda for a Stone Under trial
And That stone will go two ways
that Stone it will crack
or it’ll reach the Point and Move Mountains
itll start to Yearn Lack
And the Ball It keeps Rolling
And It Will not stop
And Now all That Time’s left With is
Carnage and Crop

and Soon I will harvest
the blood in my roots
and the quiet will Serve my hibernating
for the next unbridled pursuit

The air is made of muted colours
That vibrate with the delicate hum of light
And I’ll try my darnedest
Catching these fireflies in my palms
But they just slip like slow falling sand

And you snap your fingers
And the world turns off
And I’m back again grasping at straws
And shredded scripts
As I drag my lagging mind
Desperate to catch up to the play

But the actors heed not my calls
Of forgiveness and aid
And once again I stare at dust motes
Singing in the spotlight rain

You said you loved the colour green
The shades hidden in leaves
the froth beneath the seas

And everyone that knew you
learned to love the colour too
And now I see it
in every metaphor of you