Succumb

as the tide of years

rubs the sand

against the bastion

of your pride

 

your certainty

your inviolate truths

as you succumb

again and again

 

as you choose

face over courage

arrogance over humility

as the very sap drains from you

 

secure in your safety

as the cotton wool familiars

bed downy nights with you

and those certain dawns

 

when the calendar

of your days

grows ever shorter

and even the sand, runs out

 

that bastion can join you

in your box

your succubus, your incubus

and mate for all eternity

 

and when you pass

and see them both

nestled there;

will your Soul cry?

Woven

Every word they said

Each thing done

Have been the engineers

The architects

 

The geysers of emotion

Washed my skin

Sometimes in acid anger

And betrayal

 

Soft balms of love

And support

Rare at this stake

No blues here!

 

For every trace

On the trellis of life

Has me woven

Into tapestry

 

Each eggshell shard

Of knowledge stored

With the winter squirrels

Under the oak

 

At the point before mind

The nascent world

Is yet to become

And so still, it’s here

 

Each soft caress of fate

Has sculpted my clay

And fired me

In the ovens

 

Eyes without glaze

Look cosmos past

The aching mundane

To Sirius and beyond

 

And were it not

For each hand

Each finger

I would not be where

 

At this place

In this time

Now the eternal

The fleeting second of forever