Of six thousand so
and of many more of distant glow,
I’ve been plucked from the atmosphere to quell fears,
having then been drifting along a bear’s face,
spotted by a wandering gaze buying stocks of hope in a name,
never touching or meeting the body behind,
but forcing unto a weight that now twirls about my waist.
The rattle of the chain that the rope comes to be
rings out in song, chanting a universal tune,
seducing Polaris to take the wheel as the captain bails,
begging a stranger for help when all else fails,
for none were brighter than the promise of another
who shined in all their unknown glory now manufactured to a story,
and this erected expectation now bends down my shoulders.
The mechanics of fire are lost to someone in a burning building,
concerned only with fleeing from a crumbling frame,
the lightning licks of a blaze’s flicks an arrow piercing the breast.
A softer shadow from the window delivers an escape,
as a faraway fire never shows itself as deadly as one nearer,
and I tremble in a predator’s stare as their eyes deconstruct,
tearing down heart, mind, soul and every limb,
contorting my contours into a lifeboat off a sinking skyscraper.
Placed into a tapestry for adoration; I feel confined.
You’ve made me defined when all besides your manic mess
understand the puzzle of me has yet to morph into a constellation.
I’d wish to blossom into that lighthouse you perceived,
but I’m only glowing from drinking gasoline,
swallowing a lit match and closing the hatch so the embers swell inside,
protecting the self by murdering the self;
saving the surroundings by blocking them out.
And now each stab from that stare shoots gunpowder down my throat.
In that embrace of connecting fires there’s water flowing to your hands
erupting from a contradicting fight,
while the worst of the pain is fueling my explosion,
and I rise higher than I had been before,
flying past where I had begun,
Coasting down the lanes of Eridanus with the reins unhinged,
scorching the setting from where I came and freezing the closest in life,
scattering ashes when I try to scream for help
before your stray thunder knocks me down.
In a canvas of dust loosely tied by soot,
bound by a rope that arched into the heavens,
the specks warn of the predator’s gaze and the tricks played,
yet each too small and too quiet to ever perceive.
Having traced a new place in the wreckage of cosmos,
the fable of my shortcomings will never avoid vagrant vessels,
rocketing anchors into the sky to capture the North.
On my best behavior, I’m a pile of debris.
As a makeshift commander, I’ll be discovered empty,
plummeting back towards outer rims to be made bare again,
silently burning in the night:
A mere hope of a greater aware of their lesser being.
I’ll endure this and more until on my best behavior,
I’m only a pile of debris,
tracking on footprints of those that place bets on a stepping stone,
And each mark is another mark to my loneliness,
smothering me ever so slowly until I extinguish myself.
( ❤ Mitch)