Sour

The unmet eye met

by yet another sun-day sunrise.

It is not the silence of the Voice that stops the bleeding.

How could it be when it never stops?

It speaks of resentment,

regret –

all the Failure we Won’t forget:

How I came to rely on the strength of language Alone to bend the path and,

finally,

stopped getting everything I wanted.

How you need a broken heart to speak.

Someone’s.

Oh! you Angels,

you Ancestors,

you guides and gods –

how You persist!

I willingly entered the brooding dark when I finally saw it in the light of day.

I cannot endure any more falling.

And yet –

here I am,

again Listening,

even knowing the danger.