Outlines

Shadows
and silhouettes,
outlines of things
best left

hidden
in the empty
places of the mind.

Memories of scars,
keloid – raised and hard,
mark the path

chosen

by the clawed feet
of unfriendly
vultures,

who,
I might add,
should be more grateful,
since they feasted

upon my eyes.

Promethean-sighs,
concerning the weight
of the future,
cool my tongue,
without soothing

the burning
in my lungs
caused by

a forgotten gift –

the burning heart
that has no power
to choose

who

is burned
by the blind man
chained to his rock.


©️ 2020.

18 thoughts on “Outlines

  1. I do believe I could read your poetry for an hour or two straight. One thing I love is the depth to each and every line. The fullness of it. The emotional and intellectual depth.

  2. Some flames are not able to be put out for a reason, some gifts thankfully unreturnable. Some rocks, though attached, can still be moved, albeit in laborious and slow motion. Wonderful write.

      1. Fair enough. If the rock cannot be moved, then the flame is especially essential for attracting the moth whose true form is the salamander. πŸ™‚

      2. All good comments on the impermanence of seemingly permanent things. Good reminders that literally all things change, even old wounds from decades past.

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