where my truth sleeps

August 21, 2013

Revelations come and go like the seasons,
the haircuts, the jobs, the men, and always
with a hint of daydream and all too much reality
I am the one left kneeling, left puking in a dirty garbage
can. I am the one left lying dizzy on the dirt; I am
the one wishing on the moon at night. Revelations
never seem to last with me, like philosophies and
preferences, they resonate just enough for a poem
and then they are gone and I am off to bury myself
in more lessons and more dreams and oh the anxiety!

 

I would like to be a singing fish – I would surely sing
the most beautiful songs and only at night and only
into the black ocean so that the bottom of the earth will
hear my falsetto, brilliant and shining into the darkness.

 

Never a constant moment, always changing, always all
we have – the fingertips of a gentle woman scratching my
back so that they leave pink vertical lines until morning —
then they have faded, and my back hurts once more.

 

At the end of the universe there is a whole hole, a holy
whole hole and it is filled with truths. I sometimes don’t
believe in truths but this holy whole hole must be true
because where do my revelations go if not into that
blackness — or is it grey? I picture this whole to have a
mouth and it smiles like Mona Lisa so that nobody is quite
sure what it is up to but it is  beautiful isn’t it?

 

Far away is where the tippiest truths lay. Far away buried
in a never-ending grey whole — or is it black? Far away,
nestled among the dead stars that have burned out so many
years ago but that the children wish on because how lovely,
how dreamy is such a star that glows long after its death?

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3 Responses to “where my truth sleeps”

  1. sarahkendray Says:

    I love your writing!


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