Prudence and Madness

Silence is a Mirror,
a wakeful mind in the night.

A vast desert of skeletons,
with wind that blows whiffs
of bone dust and core.

Of the Mirror, many
are afraid;
afraid of the darkness
whose hand claws, clutches
at their heads,
pulling them to peer into
the Mirror they do not want to see;
not to gaze at winged creatures
they were taught to hide;

terrified of their own nakedness;
the wild knowing in their eyes.

the symphony of crows in their voices,
the blood and dirt of their hands,
the smell of leather and bone,
the coarseness of crushed skulls
grinning underneath their feet.

See no evil.
Hear no evil.
Speak no evil.

And many were afraid,
of the Mirror.

And they prayed for sandstorms
that will cover with Earth
the Mirror they are afraid of,
and take them up
to the bright firmament of forgetfulness
called Reality.

days of late found me
in no cheerful spirits,
as the world blooms
with their clasped hands,
the warmth emanating
from each other’s eyes
and smiles that embrace one another.

my hands had only
a bulge of unsightly flesh
of my unlovely vessel.

i swallow myself
whole.
my inside felt sick
with the dirty insult.
i tried to belch it all
but nothing came out.
it stayed in
this hateful thing.
my bulge of unsightly flesh.

those clasped hands
shall enclose my heart
cold.
the warmth shall burn
me,
flame my pity
of self.
their smiles shall take away
my life with wretchedness,
as i drown in
my pool of unwanted slick,
inside and out.

the pen that used to write
has plenty of ink
but cannot write;

the paper where words used to dwell
lazily, on its bed, lies
unoccupied;

poised over the paper
is the pen,
as if to say:
“Mark my words!”
but leaks only a smudge of trash,
some scratches that won’t match.

“can’t you do anything good?”
said the paper to the pen;

the Master is watching,
thinking,
he is feeling.

the paper got thrown out;
the pen left to leak to hollowness.

their Master walked away,
his occupation already gone.