Wisp – The Human Anvil


The needle was cold
Like ice
Drawn on paper
And my skin
Poured forth, at it’s touch;
Soft as vapour .

My, my, rainbow blue
Where are thou
In this sky:
Past Siberian prairies
Or neath valleys
Spilling high?

These dreams aren’t mine
Aren’t mine are these walls
I was taught to build them
To learn how to fall
And I still can so hear
Those bricks seeping salt
‘ We keep a part of you
As souvenir for each fault’

Dandelion, Daffodil
Kaleidoscopic in wind still.

Their is a saint at my door
His hands are all tied
He has one eye upon his forehead
To weep for the world wide
And he asks for the key
To be free
From the Pain
So I whisper to him the causes
Of the criminally insane.

The world, the world
Wither not by my words
It’s the pleasure in my veins
That so flutters as a bird
And breathes, full of life,
Even with autumn in my arm
Hold fire to my lips,
And let the numb still feel warm.

for more from this deep diver, click on over: https://thehumananvilblog.wordpress.com/

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