The way is not in the sky
The way is strewn with remnants of a storm
shame is the colour of a dove dipped in purple
long afternoons huddled in a dark corner
endless nights wrapped in chills of December
mornings when the sun does not rise
nights when the moonbeams are acid streak
the deep dense abyss of sinking and drowning
forget the asbestos of tangled toxic thoughts
hammer away the granite of a hardened hurt
there is a badgering sound inside your head
there is a reminiscence filled with regret
drown the cataclysmic sound of loneliness
the world is at a dead end in the forest of hell
someone somewhere is ringing the death knell
don't look up, the way is not in the sky
don't look down, the road is not in earth's eye
the long landscape of seismic 'how' and 'why"
whispers, you have soft feathers, learn to fly.
© Jaspreet Mann
Leave a Reply.