Back to walls where fate awaits,
Switch blades between two hands
That switch dates.
The latter unknown,
To sink beneath each breath
Equipped with something
Similar to lethal weapons
That reak of death.
Back, forth, and back.
Between doors of wisdom which I
Entered quiet and kept.
Loud sermons rang from
My lungs, filled with comfort after
Which prayers were recited
Answers were given,
Yet without a listen.
Nights on knees; repetitions to the most high.
Then tears flowed for the life granted.
Not of joy, but of regrets.
Memories that serenaded a
Peaceful landscape with reason to sleep.
But with both eyes open
To envision outlooks that were never fully developed.
Diving into inner feelings,
Feeding gray images to the wolves,
Sunday’s best dressed, post service
Produced the best camouflage.
Repentance reprinted, then laminated for display,
Marks in the mirror that yelled imperfection.
Thrown over cold shoulders as a cloak
In the middle of winter; invisible to outside, inside remains perfect.
Throwing shade at the world through tinted windows, I boast
Then shine my light through dim curtains.
Grace still being shown,
Confidence confiding to
Only one pen, a few lines.
The rest of my drive
Exists only in my mind.
I’ll stop pouring my heart out
Once the ink dries.
And by then I’ll search for more
Of it, feast for a few years
Not returning to self seeking.
Tipping on tight scales;
Tied behind my back by a clock with no hands.
Getting by with Sharp verses.
Singing a similar song while doing their dance.
And then I’ll tip toe into another matrix.
Something of life.
Walking through the same doors I
Above my own mind.
I Reaped, sowed, now I plow
For fields of even outcomes.