Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Hopefully Silent

Fog lifts
from phantom eyes,
rapture clinging to
ancient tears
as grief holds fast to
hollow bones of experience.
Hands extend,
and commanding innocence
grasps blossoming possibilities
that lie within opportunity.
A once plummeting soul
falls into the twists of
gnarled branches,
growing with each heartbeat
that shakes the roots
of secondhand reality.
Straightening gently,
temptation scrapes
wounded breaths
that are held behind each smile;
a silent prayer is sent
behind independent lips
until routine is broken.