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 their 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 it 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, and 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 ,

await in agony and hope, for our responding call.