The sound of being left alone
Soars through these plains
as the ocean washes a mist of reality
upon the poet’s dry brow.
But tarmac leads the way
if one is to walk out of these woods.
I miss your cheeks’ softness as I caress the rugged bark
You can’t see the stars without the dark.
So ahead one must dig
In order to find what was always deep within
Night or day, go astray
As we find ourselves in sin.
Here too words unsaid
Old stories locked by gazes
Friends stuck in phases.
Here too smiles go by
bold in ivory, meaning
floating, clever shy.
Here too flowers bloom
And sun shines through leaves, kissed by
starry nights’ pledges.
Here too hearts thicken
Sanded to many edges
as leaves start browning.
And time drags here too
Slippery between fingers.
Here too, the sun
The extension of the blade
That has helped kill this planet
Regardless of the bluntness or sharpness the day finds me in,
I am the movable force that pierces through years of living history.
Swing me truthfully and ahead I shall crack,
Use me with doubt and you might have to swing back.
Feel your grip tighten as we prepare for contact,
Feel your calluses start to form as we leave nothing intact.
My grip, if wooden, is consequence of the work of my forefathers,
Can you guess who I am,
You modern-day-meaning carvers?