Sunset
I watch you disappear all over again
you’ve mastered this dance
of vanished stepping
minutes will find you lowered
and in just an hour, you will be completely gone
darkness locks hands around you slowly
but like a nervous lover
it is always gentle
easing orange and red streaks
from your dilemma eyes
I wonder about the agonies you’ve seen
silent dirt roads and abandoned deserts
where the angels spread wing
and fly, before dusk
old apartments devoid of laughter
where gin bottles and blues records gather together
and noisily fuss over affected victims
sidewalk benches where broken men sit
all crooked smiles and jagged tears
cowering between your shadows
because
you’ve developed a knack for casting shadows
now a bit of an expert on silhouettes
heard all the rumors about mornings after
could paint a sky with
things to forget
like lightning bolts
and gasoline
razor blades and
dusty magazines, stuck on the very last
page that was viewed
moments before they fell
because around you,
memories are read silently
like Braille
and around you,
remembering is forgetting
light fades in instances and the
only thing distant about distant
is trying not to remember the distance
but you were never really good with horizons
you creep below, content with no longer seeing
you already know a few things about surrender
you’ve already mastered hopelessly seeking sleep
you’ll let the stars keep the burden of
bearing witness
because some nights
aren’t intended
for peace
[End]
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
No comments:
Post a Comment