Sunday Confessionals : Answers

Photo by Oloriel: visit her HERE

Implacably Human

The dawn settles

pensive and oyster-shell pink

into the stinging arms

of another edge-less morning.

Each day I wake up

drifting from one

dream to another,

transparent and ubiquitous

like a jellyfish.

It was the lies

that caused the breach

not what those lies

sought to obfuscate.

It is always the lies

but no one gets that

they think

trust is lost

in the imperfections,

in the momentary cruelties.

We all lie.

When I say

I am certain

that is always a lie

because I never am.

I don’t know

means more

than pity anyhow.

I don’t know

is implacably human.

Sometimes

I want to hear

nice things.

I want to be

spoken to the way

a child speaks

when blowing off

the head of a dandelion.

I want the dusk

delicate and womb soft

to envelop me

but mostly it is the moon

that I want

tremulous, pock-marked, inconstant

to fill me

with her mournful, pink cries.

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