Stage Lights

Not all poetry is words.

Not a surgery is knives.

We split the skin,

we’re in a blur,

we’ve been this way

for our whole lives.

We don’t except the intervention,

because the problem isn’t mine.

We slip into some kind psychosis

when we get pushed over the line.


Maybe it’s movement,


Clouds entrancing,

so much knowledge,

no understanding.

I’m a maze

and you’re a puzzle,

follow me,

fall to pieces,

now we’re in trouble.


The ground won’t catch you

one long Monday.

The question’s, “Who do

you want to be,


Birds in flight

are only falling.

The end is close,

the future’s calling.


All the words,

won’t save a Sunday.

We’re going to get there,


one day.

The ocean waves,

the mountains bow,

the air applauds;

the show is over, now.


HG – 2018

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