I’ve been wrestling with two people to find a third,
Trying to separate good from evil when every cultural moral line is blurred.
The birds breathe their carefree sonnets to the doe eyed wind,
But it leaves no peaceful pauper drinking in the shirtless resting place of my dreams
No seams of silken strands can seal the apparent scars I bear.
And this tear keeps growing between the insanity of what I’ve perceived
and the endless inescapable finality of what is real,
What I feel,
The cards I deal,
Thoughts I steal,
Tender skin peeled back,
Blackened stacks of slackened nerve attacks,
Whips that crack,
Wincing, smacking, splitting, hacking,
Racking my body with pain and fear
‘Cause my brain lacks the machinery to hear love’s language of life!

I can’t tell anymore which way is up or down or if it even matters.

Sometimes the gentle chatter of sparrows lulls me to the streets outside,
Takes me on wings that glide to mirror pooled valleys where the starlight hides my face.
I peer into worlds that something deeper than my tongue longs to embrace,
Tasting sweet and full,
Far beyond the pull of struggle,
My desperate tug of war resting serenely in gardens no human has tended.
I’ve forgotten what is me,
Lost in a sea of forgetfulness that covers my past,
Opens up doors of lasting peace,
Eyes that speak,
Free me from the box that sealed my name.
It’s the song that came into earthly limitation,
Sang harmony to a rejected child’s habitation,
The end of desperation,
These two, struggling people swallowed inside my soul.

Sometimes I see the whole of who I want to be,
Not anywhere within me,
A mystery of three in one
Completing the two that fight inside.