guide

With what winged words guide these
Absurd images slithering and
Visiting eyes too relaxed from
Minds up-stream,
Despairing pulses,
Enjoying the most of a memory
Unscathed in healing high
Above fictitious graves.
So long,
In semblance of chains
To peer, unto trauma
Resembling a willful collected karma
No willed words
With intent unheard
No final cure
No, non, nothing
Wake you
In interested simple adjusting
Words so pure, emotional memory
Can’t help but endure
Through forms and comfort
Accepting in light
Delightful, inviting, soothing a
Delicate young appetite
So infancy, kicking
So infancy, shame
So intricate slipping, into remains
My son – your widow
Walking this plank
With words we healed
With swords we take.