Have you ever seen the things
that crawl around in the heart
and keep you from believing
in those tiny failures?
have you ever seen the things
that keep mistakes tied
to the loneliness of striving
for another chance at shrugging?
when i walk of late,
i stop and consider
the times when i was forced
into a new point of view.
the shining amber of the ongoing night
the broken hearts that keep falling
and shattering against the floor
and your smile inside,
the only mirth for miles in a dead city
spinning like one of those neon tops
that you get at the dollar store
what does a dying bird expect, though?
some quiet inward motion?
some great inner healing?
just the ability to see the sky one last time.