Rough Draft

A wander-lusting peace
beseeches sea glass collected on shores of solace.
I find myself soaring
on the backs of these silver winged doves.
Shake me like a freight train
and break my plate glass skin.
I brush off the dust of an alternate reality,
where’s love’s tumescent course can be promised
not just meaninglessly predicted.

It’s a lost place that never should have existed.
It’s a message in a bottle,
glass contained and lost at sea.
The iron eye in my mind
it sees the glaring truth
and ruthlessly calculates
as it becomes undone and unravelled.
The sky flinches not at the stones we throw.

Look back with the hindsight of your eyes
and not the tender of your spirit.
Life here and now is the rough draft;
be the beauty and the savage beast.
The sweetest air’s outside ourselves
and forgiveness starts in the blood;
don’t rip your own heart.
Brechen Sie nicht Ihr eigenes Inneres.