Cluttered Lanes and Broken Towers

The weakest moment is the moment
in which one has to most unused potential
for strength.

And the day turns away from the sun
as its bleeding evening veins
paint fires on the shell of night
and the eye securely strains
to be a part of darkness
and to be beyond the pains
that drip into translucent souls
on an ancient highway's lanes.

Construct the canyons of your insignificance
... and mine.

A shutter leaps from the abyss of solitude
shaking and shivering
intertwined with the riddles of the chessboard memory
which is calling for answers that don't mean a thing.
The gray darkness encroaches from the distilled ink
shaking and shivering
in the cold translucent pools of night's unrealized desire
welded to a bleeding heart by a fallen angel's wing.
And the energy sits dying in the vat of molten oil
shaking and shivering
by the ash laden doorsteps where innocence once played
and the poor fool once rose up and stood a king.

Smother all the doubt with your crazy hope
... and mine.

So these trials have taught you nothing real?
well look again
into the blackness of your unjust and false misfortune
and see the waking of a scant and scrawny soul.
If the hollow mouths of judges turn your heart into cold steel
well look again
and see that the atoms which bind us all into the pattern
judge not between the solid flesh, and the black inclusive hole.
I'll place my bets with tomorrows beckoning
to look again
and see that the darkness has more to do with the light than light does
and that the journey forever eclipses the goal.

Become the rock upon which your wings will glide
... but only yours, not mine.

And the night turns away from the sun
as the fresh blood in its veins
unravels new beginnings
and the eye securely strains
to suck up all of that golden light
and embrace the living pains
that drip into translucent souls
on an ancient highway's lanes.

The strongest moment is the moment
in which one has the most inexplicable tolerance
for weakness.