Читать книгу the first conversation the sun had with the moon - jason a. kendall - Страница 11

what we carry, polished in thoughts

of shame

layered with all of our troubles

and obvious burdens,

becomes boulders

forging deep grooves in the sand

as we drag sluggishly

pulling with all our might

and stopping only to thicken

the plot

they heavy in the sun

picking up leftover insults

and muffled criticisms

mostly echoed from our own

betraying mouths

we are indifferent, as we settle

in the soft part of the ground

giving up to the tow of life

entangled in the custody

of the moment,

we are fish out of water,

floundering in the past -

our future fills with uncertain

sloshes of water until we feel

drowned

what we carry, these giant

round and impossible

rocks

can be chiseled to much smaller pieces

that fit in our pockets

and are easily lost

or

forgotten

yet we keep prolonged lists

of complaints

casting doubt

with every step

we muster

with every

step

we

take…

what we carry

concealed behind closed eyes

a black still fear

crawls like cold water

dripping from the faucet of our consciousness