At the Margin...

Picture this...

A river,

Still, slow, but benovolent.

Benovolent as a deer, steered in fear.

Picture the eyes,

Those that search for an answer,

An answer so sore and seer,

You find nothing, no more nor near.

You drown into the abyss,

Chasing for the bliss,

Only to find nothing but a miss.

Picture the vacancy,

The ghost in the void,

Fighting to destroy,

the most in her voice.

Picture the uncertainty

A stripped town in a state of stupor,

tanked down and seen a loser.

No blame for what we see,

but shame for what we be.

What do we succumb when the sun goes down?

Where do we run when none comes out?

Being unfound by self is nothing but a joke,

a joke soley made to gag and choke,

Are we frost in the distance,

Or simply lost in negligence?

Picture the night.

Sleep is a warm slither,

soft, yet cunning like silver.

Birth of all eutopia,

yet filled with much dystopia.

The death of a dream,

is everything extreme.

From Denver to Dallas,

that's all you can reap.

Who goes beyond if not the chosen?

Who locks the bond between the oceans?

The answer...

The only folks bestowed in motion.

Picture a view,

windows, as blue as a lagoon,

crowns, as silky as a mink's.

One seen as the moon,

the others, ruined in the mix.

Invisible for not fitting the fix,

Yet probable for building the bricks.

The bricks that lay the foundation of what is searched for,

Creating a place that's seen as the main door.

Picture a song,

Mellow, yet firm with a hum,

A sound that guides the lost,

and finds the ones we tossed.

A sound that mingles with feeling,

and starts with brewing the healing.

A sound that protects the heathens,

while painting all the seasons.

Are we looking, or unhooking?

Are we found, or unbound?

Terror is spewed in ignorance,

ignorance is what we see without,

without is what breeds within,

until all that's left, an empty grin.

Take a cloud,

majestic yet shallow through,

if it were me, one would call a fool.

Why?

Because a body is what fills the pool.

The soul is a stranger,

who knocks only in danger.

She shows when life is mere,

and grows where death is near.

A relation built on distrust,

similar to one made of lust.

As we get sucked in, and spit out in total despair,

we're simply shaping a world we want to declare.

"Who am i?" is the question I'll keep asking,

asking until there's no masking.

The answer lies somewhere deep,

Deeper than the frame I think I see.

It reflects the flesh I claim to own,

yet lacks the fresh that once arose.

And what remains at the end of road?

A broken piece that can never be towed.

Pulling it out hurts,

the truth we wish to never blurt.

It pains to admit the loss we were always hit,

knowing that not once, were we ever a perfect fit.

Growing weary? I will however do,

because finding me, will be forever due.

Dusk will find me, buried in the sand warmly,

I'll listen to the sways of the aqua, as my skin heats slowly.

A smile I'll throw, as a token of glow

happy that once an answer i sought,

i looked and found a legion of hope.