Matrimony – from “Peripheral Prose”

They all speak to me.
The greatest of all time.
In this moment at least.
And from the walls they stare,
in my eyes, and awaken these ghosts.
A mixed bag, a cavalcade.
Hard saying what any of it means.
Inaction may be resistance though.
The bed’s we’ve made.
Has our blood shed in vein?
Is this path virtuous still?

Lots of players in this game of life.
It took such severe pain to see you all so clearly.
Pieces of peace here.
And maybe we get what’s coming to us.
I’m digging through these channels now, on these dusty roads,
mining through these experiences,
while the fallen angel tempts my consciousness,
even as I pretend we’re all friends.

A dynamic set of circumstances,
a temporary fix on every corner.
Or perhaps a furthering madness.
Only fragments of truth exist here.
But you still speak to me, and for that I am grateful.
Having had the chance to make my own decisions,
what an opportunity, indeed.
Gratitude at my core, even if I don’t say thank you enough.

The specificity of the words though, today,
in this experience!
What an awesome synchronicity.
Losing count of how many ways I’ll pay.
Surely, I’m not worthy.
Don’t want to disappoint.
Don’t want to call the guards.
I’m gracious for the peace of mind in the moment.

But I need something to attain.
Or else I’m dangerous.
There’s no reconciling what’s inside of me.
And I fear I don’t project right at times.
This life can take everything in an instant, and I know that to be true.
Just another tangled play upon this mangled board.
An option to invest?
Please, I’ve been that guy to.

I’ve got friends, and they got friends, and we know a thing or two to.
A second could’ve changed everything, for everyone.
And we think about it often.
I’m learning my libidos now.
That desire within me.
To cure, heal, and mend,
these things I did not break.

I’m reconciling between two worlds now.
Learning to harness this overwhelming gift of strength.
And I’m waiting on your call.
The mind, it tips in hope with prayer,
while those many souls, that sit upon the scale,
still measure in the silence.