Friday’s Child

A stirring confusion of joy and riotous color

That trickles out of my fisted hand and dissipates 

Into the grey of this moment. 

I had it all a twinkle ago and this twinkle

Crept up on me with a thundering murderous

Sound.

A picket fence of flirting pain, a swing of barbed wire,

Elusive and out of grasp of my eye and mind.

A bright red trickle seeps from my soul reminding me

Of life eternal and temporal.

Thinking I am strong, I leap off the cliff

Finding out I am not, I slam against the face

Thinking I cower, I find myself flying

Thinking I am not comfortable, I find myself making my bed

 

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