The Living and the Dead

Victim of Circumstance

I could tell in few words
how living takes hold, and death curses existence.
I could tell in melody of aching empty.
I can convey feelings,
as sun brings her morning breath,
as star dreams in time –
all this sensed with a word.

but, I cannot change fate,
make sense of where sense is not made
Knowing this, feeling, helpless
in understanding all is how it births and dies for purpose –
I cannot bring the why to front
The sight and senselessness of life stopped short.

even in knowing short lives matter most and touch and pull
with unscathed beauty,
I still can’t tell of how I feel when it seems the sun settled too soon.

Death makes this sacrifice so we live – why I and not you?
This world was not for such innocence.
Does this make the living unworthy of death?

IW

 

 

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That Little Breeze

I sat a while blind,
Deaf, numb, mute.
Killed by my own heart.

Heavy air on summers days
Pushed sweat out the pores
In the still air, I can’t feel its presence

Keeping me clinging on, I know
I need to move, and I do, almost.
The sweltering, the weight, too much!

Stand and walk! In that instance,
The faintest breeze brushes the droplets
Formed through my skin to save my life

Relieving, releasing, comforting,
Wakening my senses
The touch, of nothing I can see, pushing against me

Run, perhaps soon, so this breeze grows stronger
To hear shushing, limbs pulsing blood
Open my mouth and sing, or maybe scream –

~IW~