From the Middle of Envy

What runs like water
Each line, though an hour,‎
and faster than blood
each paragraph, though a day;‎
and cannot be but delayed?‎

Can it not be stopped?‎
lying in the middle
Though it were quarantined
‎,between the tangible and the unseen,‎
by slow-moving thoughts
between fraternal red and the envious green
of a lover's hand or a friend's own gift;‎
is a Waste Land.‎
although I sift impurities
Through the spoken and hushed
as best I can,‎
‎ ,between the real and surreal,‎
my will to do good‎
where grey is the road
is daily suffocated, daily crushed,‎
and grey are the skies
in the ill-wisher's thick-aired underbrush.‎
and difficult it is to rise
Where there appears no room to hope
anew each day, and I pray‎
to turn from down to Right,‎
to have my strength increased,‎
from ears deaf to Seeing eyes,‎
to have my flight prepared,‎
to know the Truth from lies,‎
To wake: have I yet dared?‎
I would not know the dream
‎,such as the waking goes,‎
from my child's eyes.‎


Blogger Thin Black Duke said...

Hey, Matt--Good to see you back and blogging. Unfortunately, with school starting on Monday, my blogging and web-surfing time will decrease. I'm always keeping an eye on your activities, though.

6:23 PM  

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