Bloodied palms tirelessly hold
dreams and wishes its master outgrows.
With patience to run into thickened branches…
the thorns that caught to topple.
*
Her aim to take that baited breath;
presentation given that denies rest.
But more than this, a black appetite
that itself gnaws the chords of time.
**
Drunk on distance and bygone days
that rabbit that runs in its endless state,
whose fur would naught but fetch a coin
to be collected from the eye on a ferry.
***
A haunted thought that trees do whisper
when soft wind blows and song birds listen.
They, with colors, can see a world of pallor;
the same that is lost until final thought.
****
Faint spectre that sits backward with haunt;
well rested feet and a grim laughing jaunt.
To this is a cry or penitence considered,
or better to live in caves of certainty?
*****
Oh jostled attention, be claimed again!
That introspection but a Judas friend,
whose curse and curse will twice produce
the moon’s response to howling wolf.
****
What ancient blood can cover such vagrant?
What home be built or castle to rent?
A bed on straw or amongst the roses
will each see slumber in their course.
***
And now, this closing thought upon the walls
that deem to us our total thrall:
If chains there be, or concrete cask
let us, like the servant, rest at last!
**
A beating heart to bow at closing curtain;
angelic hands to lift up final burdens!
Words penned have painted many pictures
of those bloodied palms finding relief…
*
-L.C. Magnus
Bearlee Afloat 