by Cam M. Roberts
In moments such as these, it all seems as obvious
as the weight which is still
burning but never resorts to ash,
It envelops me in solitude, and dwells
within my skull: I hang my head further
with every footfall.
Is it the same heaviness of mind
which from the onset of its wild impending
is astounded by the truth
of things, unfolding themselves
into mere points-of-departure or access-holes
for the sake of man and his vanity, a place
kept in illusion where no mistake is made? – The visage
of happiness cast upon a concrete wall is now unlit by its former light,
When it’s gone, guilt arrives, and with emphasis.
The world will appear
lost, inimical, bereft, and vast in waywardness.
One stays ill-acquainted with an already alienated world.
The flip-side of release
is collapse, not peace.
It’s the letting loose
as disaster is happening, hinges begin
to break off
from their own scaffolding,
one intake of breath splays another,
crippling the metaphors
from both hemispheres of the brain.
It’s quite spectacular,
and I’m still learning as I always will
the distinctions of fear and wisdom.