When the numbing sadness feathers this stillborn heart
and these eyes I sting with light are a migraine haze
seemingly lidded for eternity, I will hope
a hope not foolish, not unreal
this hope is the strength of my ancestors.
When sleep will not capture with gentleness this wounded heart
and the swirling night will not slow rampaging blood
when sanity holds on with icy gloves
I will drain that paralysis of being
that forbids re-entry to life
to sleep as a newborn within mother’s song.
When she is no longer wonder to this romantic heart
and tomorrow lives as spent reflections of yesterdays
to anchor entropy on a ghostly coastline
I will break the erotic danse-macabre
with all I can summon
to wake in some sweet foreign port.
When my heart is forgotten, love’s power near death
within the myopic miasma of my maddened mind
wine my winsome solitary companion
I will survive by inches
Of yes and no, forever and never, why and what cause
while my heart plays my emotions of what will be…what was.
MaxS 1994
