Counsel

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I sit by the window

Watching the world spill

Into greasy prisms

Rainbows within which

Only excess remains.

I could do with

A little distillation

A little clarity.

A root or a hand

To serve as a scale

When judgment

Offers no recourse.

 

A breath carried

To climax

Can withstand

The miracle it seeds.

To collapse riven

At the finish

Is to be present.

An urge is just an urge

Until the host

Proves irretrievable

And a knife

Is just a tool

Until the flesh

It clutches

Is your own.

 

If a location dictates

My pilgrimage

It exists in a hollow

Not yet quarantined.

Whomever beseeches

This menagerie

Becomes a beast.

To be beholden

Is to be assigned.

For better or worse

You are everything

When held within

The inflation

Of my scathing black

Counsel.

We are all eyes

When the witness

Is time.

We are all heart

When the witness

Is love.

 

I might pinch

The clouds

To escape altercation

But the devil

Hath many guises.

The greatest illusion

Ever sponsored

Is the illusion

That any government

Supports freedom.

 

I hold my breath

Above water never below.

There is a depth

From which

I scarcely emerge.

Calm is not my default.

I am the prodigy

Of a lesser fought

Cataclysm.

A poetess between

The sheets,

A paper wrapped

Emissary,

A dream unpronounceable

In human speech.

*

For some reason I was fascinated by this arrangement of trees

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13 responses to “Counsel

  1. a knife is just a tool until it is your flesh that it is in….how true…and what a perspective eh? could say the same of guns…i also agree about government and freedom…

  2. Great poem…
    I love the three last verses and these ones in particular:
    “A little clarity. A root or a hand
    To serve as a scale
    When judgment
    Offers no recourse”.
    I need to congratulate you right now 🙂 (I do)
    Best wishes, Aquileana 😀

  3. I love the expectedly unexpected way in which you made the photo merge with your words and they way they resonate and make impacts in the mind.

  4. I’m sometimes blown away by the thought process of a poet. Like now. Wow! That never happens to me when I look at trees 🙂

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