Silent Savior


I see the fiery breath before

it reaches my sensitive drums

that reverberate meaning.


What scorching marks

They leave on my heart.

But a heart is a heart to hurt,

Even if it’s not the target of desire.


Every beat wilts my pumping organ

Until the words become metaphysical.

A battle between truth and feelings,

Even though Truth is known.


But what is, isn’t what’s happening.

Beat; wilt. Wither.


What is, is a crumbling pillar

Whose twin was slowly relocating.

Same weight, one pillar.

A falling piece gains traction

And I am down below.


To catch is to burn,

But to let fall is to lose hope.

Burn? Or hopelessness?

Hopelessness? Or burn?


Catch. Patch. Move on.

Fall. Scorch. Shudder.

Catch. Patch. Move on.



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