spent a coffee drenched weekend,
tucked inside the belly of the beast-
no friend available to help contend,
or provide indulgent food, at least.
and sometimes words refuse to originate,
from a day that holds a breeze over the ocean.
no- sometimes the pain demands a devotion,
that can bring its witness to the knees-
and whoever said there were any guarantees,
of any sort of grant of ease?
but the battle leaves a warrior in the dust of its dark fight,
and warrior binds wound and heart with a secret, awesome might-
and I held the world inside my hands; that weekend of the beast-
the world was a bruise and a war torn field, and wreck from west to east,
and I heard its howling, like a hunted wolf- often mistaken for the wind-
and believe you me, there’s a willful blindness with which we all have sinned.
and some weekends bear the brunt of us- they cater to our needs,
and some weekends bear the brunt of all,
and those are the ones that supersede,
the dreams and aches of one swollen soul-
no, it’s the entire damn universe that also bleeds,
and awaits in agony and hope for our responding call.