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50 lines
1.5 KiB
Text
50 lines
1.5 KiB
Text
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Melia
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2020-09-27
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***
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like the gentle beating of the ocean's waves
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the anhedonia comes once more to play
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like a seed buried deep in the chambers of my heart
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germinating each time the tide floods into the bay
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they told me to draw and to write what you know
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so I buried myself far deep down below
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like I'm watching a cat lie on a table of glass
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the boots pound like thunder as on the street above they pass
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a wyrm whose tail blossoms into a tree
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a weeping willow overlooking the sea
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like a fisherman, I cast my line of gaze far
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a weary soldier recalling a distant war
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a Solstice of solitude, hair fire, face flush
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painting strokes of water on a rock with a brush
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but the lines evaporate, words into air
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as if I'd never uttered them
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as if they'd never been there
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"wherever did my Godhead go?" I cry
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frustrated with the fallow fields of my mind
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that bear no fruit, that offer no face
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to save me from appearing to myself a disgrace
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for what use is a brush without bristles?
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a plow that cannot? a blog sans epistles?
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a potion of health that just makes one swoon?
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ambition unable to touch even the moon?
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the feathers in my hair rustle in the wind
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an impostor, severed from what would be my kin
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had I been born in different place and time
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had never ceased the gentle tinkle of outside wind's chimes
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all alone under this tree's shade I sit
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watching the ocean, end of mind's wit
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a budding hermit, the end that I sought
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the burden on my mind is still quite a lot.
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***
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CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
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