October 2/09

Strange Lands

I have been accused by the stars
of trying to colour them anything but true,
they're twinkling dissatisfaction more than obvious.

I have been admonished by the sky for doubting
the grey clouds, whiplashed with a smirky blue
arrogance.

I have been misunderstood by the seas
with cresting waves of
disrespect clanging against my coasts.

I thought about the reasons with a crayon heart,
the tones of vermilion green regret and sorrow
filling every sense and then some.

I struggled to find the banks safety, grabbing onto
tall grasses who turned their backs to me.

I tripped around unbalanced by the air's breath,
cold and razor to my alabaster flesh peeling
and feeling like sponge.

I found shelter under a canopy of trees, listening
to whispering winds searching to blame, grasping on
to collusion like a final curtain.

I argued with myself, debating the space between
what is and should be, pondering why the colours
bled onto the paper like a tangerine.

On the horizon stones standing distant
talked about silence
in muted syllables of derision plotting
to overthrow and rout.

I ran like a kite soaring with doves, flapping my tongue
wings in panic, afraid of the grounds hands reaching for
my ankles to imprison my pens fingers.

I am lost in a wilderness of white and black consonants
gathering my mind in verses like a ghost.

Somebody help me decipher this conundrum, I am sinking
in a quagmire of deceitful envy, defending my positions in
sentences beyond my control.

I asked the moon about the nights cheeks, and when he
responded gently, caressing the twilight with smiles.

I realized everything has a price, what is wagered
is not the cost, but what is lost is the only thing
that can help you find your way.

Kevin Harling.