In his eyes an abyss brews deeper,
Sweeping each moment into a vacuum
Like the breath of the wind blows a dying
Tree’s leaves into the clutter of the rest of the world.
He hears his music, with his ears
But only as a blind man sees the darkness.
I wonder if ever his heart has lurched
From a voice, a smile- anything but blood.
In his mind a revolution is twitching,
His lips inching upward with a fortitude, growing
Like a germ, mitosis, splitting and growing
Waiting to strike when the skull falls down.
In his laughter a confusion is shaking
Questioning the life he has chosen to make,
Asking, if only there was a back step to be taken
Would a foot print be changed like a rub in the sand?
In his eyes I see revelation is blooming,
Born from the womb of subtle maturation.
I wonder, will he live? Or will he keep dying
Like the tree who now sleeps crumbled deep in the gutters.