Death comes in many forms.
When the blood cools in the body
happens to me most often.
I forget what it is to live.
Each day passes without a flicker of gold or stardust.
I pretend Iām content but itās really complacency.
Contentment wouldnāt despair of its existence every other day.
Dried blood turns the body numb,
casts a shadow over figure of speech.
What is it that resuscitated me?
I saw a flash. Before my eyes.
A future that I have no way of making mine.
A past muddled with pity, poverty, pestilence, and pleas.
A voice that I have no conscience of.
A shoulder that will never be there to cry on.
A form that does not exist without breath.
And the breath cannot breath without my blood to pump it through my lungs.
For all the time I quieted your voice,
filled you up inside just to leave you void,
turned your words into spells that floated down the river of time,
toyed with your heart and wasted your life.
I did not know what I did.
I had no concept of truth.
And no image to even misconstrue it.
left me feeble in my search.
I feel no further than a babe,