The Blank Page

Just a poem…

Sordid tongues that hiss bored regret.
Singing songs of the infinite.
Through tempered eyes; windowed souls.
I see infinity: Embossed in coal.

But before we fly on these weathered sails,
So brightly binded and post-impaled.
Remember youth beneath the sun,
Of slighted years: Those sordid tongues.

And in hateful times, slipped broken steps.
Had cracked the soles of our moment’s breath.
For many years, who fear to come.
The thoughts remain: Forced chosen ones.

When repress is chosen, a conscious goal.
The snakes of treason, invade–dethroned.
They spill the glass; a memory.
And in remission, flood back unseen.

Marking souls, cortex requesting molds.
Guided scars, mapping ruby-dotted holes.
Behold, the pariah dying like the old.
Desensitized by the liar’s grinding woes.

With softened smiles, like infants’ breaths.
We capitalize on our loneliness.
So take your nails, and tear the seams.
Become the scars of eternal-dream.

And when the gleam, fades forever severed clean.
To the stars, we part exempt from what we think.
Celestial paths; too far to ever see.
Bodies barren–void of voice: Empty.