The gold bleeds across the late afternoon,
a familiar heat clinging to the skin,
and in this summery haze,
a quiet inventory begins.
I
I sift through the closeness,
the edges of what I thought I knew,
the people who populate my now,
a constellation shifting.
Love
There are shadows here,
echoes of old connections
that have frayed, not simply faded,
but snapped by a deliberate force.
My
A turning, a hard pivot
toward a hunger that feeds itself,
this constant need to settle scores,
a thirst only vengeance can momentarily quench.
Family
And for what harvest?
To plant seeds of hatred
in the fertile ground of other families?
To ensure that the circle of grief widens,
a widening gyre of inherited pain?
Where
The scumbagged core,
the rot that starts within,
it spreads,
even when the distance seems vast,
even when they are the closest faces.
Did
There is nowhere left to run to,
the destination is a void,
a place where true connection withers.
I
This feeling I held, this thing I offered,
a soft, open palm of affection,
it cannot be a shared thing now,
not a mutual breathing in and out.
Lose
It is a solitary experience,
a single current flowing against the tide.
You
My soul,
it tries to read the currents,
to understand the flow
of the group,
the shared pathways of flourishing,
the economic weave that binds us,
the way positive outlooks interlock.
Needless
It watches the severance,
the deliberate cutting of those beneficial ties,
all for a brittle, temporary satisfaction.
To
The intuition screams a warning,
a low hum beneath the cicada song,
that a spirit dedicated to payback
cannot truly align with the shared light,
the collective building.
Try
The warmth of this summer day
feels heavy,
weighed down by unspoken reckonings,
by the knowledge of how easily trust
can be traded for a fleeting, bitter triumph.
It
I look at the remaining faces,
the ones who still choose the sunlit path,
and wonder how long the shadows can be kept out,
how much cleansing is required
to remember what a simple, honest bond felt like.
Is
The air is thick with the unsaid,
the cost of all that turning away.
And the knowing settles,
heavy as dusk,
that some bridges are burned not by accident,
but by a sustained, internal fire.
No question
a quiet inventory begins.
constellation shifting.
but snapped by a deliberate force.
thirst only vengeance can momentarily quench.
widening of inherited pain?
even when they are the closest faces.
place where true connection withers.
not a mutual breathing in and out
a single current flowing against the tide
way positive outlooks interlock.
all for a brittle, temporary satisfaction.
the collective building.
can be traded for a fleeting, bitter triumph.
to remember what a simple, honest bond felt like.
but by a sustained, internal fire.
Where now
The gold bleeds across the moon
before it was to late
,that's where
You can find me.
Here right.
SoulfulSample113
