They say âthings come in threesâ
I wish they hadnât said that.
In blood and name,
a path is caved in ancestry.
Am I, Harry to continue this tree?
Forsee, I need a degree to turn to
I yearn for a me that is not
Want what is not
Be who Iâm not.
This armour, heavy
Itâs weight, alive on me. Is me
I am it and inside of it.
No pause for concern. No contemp(t)-
plation. Too much, now.
Deep is this line, this bloodline.
A thread, this thread, threading us together,
for without it weâd surely be apart.
I have contempt for you. I hate you.
At times, yes. At times, no. At times,
I just donât think so.
Crest, crestens beam.
Routinely, I navigate this stream.
Set forth, taking me. Breaking me still.
Bruised, from word more than fist.
From verbal jab than knife-puncture.
From authority unjustly wrathed,
than deserved tender.
In name I have, is it nature too?
Am I another you you?
Is me me, me?
Will I repeat, weep, hurt and forseek?
Tubed up, leaning on machining for life.
Leaning on others. Pushing them,
prodding for productivity.
Jesting. Besting. Thinking of other.
Will I miss this? Will I miss everything?
Will I stare unto reflection seeing an amalgam
of three. Of him, you and me. This isnât me.
Will I be scared of myself (as I am now)?
Continue a path to this cenotaph.
Inevitable doom.
Early, cut-short. Regressed and stagnant.
Staying, not exploring. Not mooring, delaying.
Avoiding.Â
Tackling and standing comes quicker now.
I am not filled with regret, just yet.
Its buds do blossom though. A climb up
to fall down. To end. To no more.
To not seeing you again. It again.
All my problems again. Easy jump. Easy choice,
nothing to do. Or to be.
Yet it hurt to try, it hurt to mind.
Mind if I stay, actually?Â
âPoem typeset with outlined Red beams.â
IMAGE SOURCE:
Priest: Flickr 46578090224 by Midnight Believer.
IMAGE DESCRIPTION:
A portrait artwork depicting longform text in a Red Sans-serif typeface, with Red outlined graphics to the right. All on a Black background.
