Written Upon William Blake Contemplating Eternity

25 Dec

I tied a knot around the very
neck of joy

Morning birds cry
on a wire
mourning birds
on a wire cry
the stores were all
closed, and your
eyes were finally
dry.

I hung around bound to it
the noose on my neck
tightened

mystification
soon
gave way
to
asphyxiation

the love i wanted
did not see me
through
the darkness

the dog knows not to bark
at those allowed to be here.

Chefs will always hang
up their hats as the last
customer staggers through
the door.

choking and burning
joy maimed
myself marred
I can now be with
those left unmoving
bruised and senseless
out in the street.
How strange to find grace
on a dinner plate
overflowing with ashes
against this I can find
no words that will ever
find your ear.

truth untying the knot
letting joy go
with sorrow

Where is the joy I
was sure had passed
this way?

Can anyone hear me
banging my head?

I never knew one could
be accosted by joy.

disapproving tongues
tangle as a red dress
sways in a spring
breeze.

joy still maimed took
flight
myself still marred
prayed outside, but
the scratches of
it’s nails
are
those strange windows
of brilliant
color.

Snowflakes feeling
just like those still
glowing scratches on
my neck. Cinders crashing
against my face on a
cold winter’s gloaming.

So no one is answering?

You look in the mirror and
seemed shocked to see
yourself looking like
a dimestore Santa turning
to day as night turns
to morning outside those
brightly lit windows.

If one looks close they
can easily see the days
are out of sync with
time. I go on, but how long
will this go on?

As long as there are
sparrows chirping in the
trees outside.

On
and
on
forever
this road
that leads
everywhere
never ends.

Pressing my feverish
forehead against
the cold mirror
I know I’ll soon
be walking with
joy again
everywhere.

I’m really on my own
no one else around
everything is finally
equal like a clock
on an old deserted
church.

I was pushing too
much I was being too
eager. Joy was the
church with that broken
clock.

Is it always five to
eleven here?

What was the reason
for me being here.

It was…

I was coatless,
frozen stiff

It is…

the reason why she
once called herself
Eve for one night, and
for years I was a low-rate
dreamer.

Was she was going
to the movies
last night
while you swept
the kitchen floor
bemused with the real
world?

The voices on the stairs
are
actually
eternity
beckoning.

I looked to the sky
for the joy that would
surely bring me through,
calling out in the night’s
first hour for the sun
to forever rise.

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