Broken Blues

Raising

under the beautify sun of

Sunday morning, expecting a morning

routine kiss from the mouth of hers

that conceived me.

Instead,

my world opened

to the view of a stranger that knew me well.

I felt so unwanted, perhaps

my world falls apart.

loudly,

in my mind

like sounds of a pin drop, saying

‘do not waver’. I could feel

my shell broken.

I

glanced at the

other side of the mirror, the spirit

bounced back into the

host of shadows.

Nothing

been forgotten,

her voice is a supper I could not digest,

the sweetness in the tone

of the night.

Had you drunk from my well,

you would have known the bitterness

of water. Had you followed my eyes through its tears,

you would have known the source

of my emptiness.

Watch how I feast

like she never existed. I was ten

when my mother kissed my horsehead like that.

And I did not slip and think I missed the

road to my creator’s heart.

My

ancestors were forsaken.

Knife stuck tight into my heart. and

I did not give a chance

to bleed.

Death

came with a bribe.

Suppose I was left with something to keep.

I embraced her smiling–pale face

deep to my heart.

Angst / Bereavement. & Deity

In fear of becoming unhappy imminent, we

all choose to be unhappy from this moment? Suppose

this is the only thing we know tears of our mother / the blood

that swab us clean.

Ruins

in the gawk of the gods. & I espoused

doom in shadows. It’s in the epicenter of our minds,

we take a lonely path through the boulevard of the aged gods.

Beneath the darkest sky, the corpse still wonders

why we always flee when death emanates to feast.

I singing 

wreck through the road of the aged god.

Who will be the last to die in the land where cadaver cries.

Who will be the last to remain when it’s only god and pain.

There is nothing greater than the voices from the grave.

only they can tell us why, only they will never lie about the reason

we stand

rotten in the road to the aged gods.