Futures falter

Futures falter through

knowledge of what's past.

Passed by now, as

dust settles on pictures painted.

 

Is this the messiness of actual living?

 

News came; we all acted 

like we understood. 

Finding out, and yet

knowing nothing. 

 

Lines drawn in time

weathered skin; map

years as though tributaries

and upon hearing fill with tears.

 

Couldn't sleep; light leaks 

through the open door, 

stretching out like the 

day ahead. 

 

Is this the messiness of actual living?

 

Hands thick, full with 

bruises. Blistering, bulging 

nails, dead 

but not detached. 

 

So faithful for so many years,

certain of knowledge. No 

doubts in our safe 

place within the tapestry. 

 

But how we cried amidst 

the faithless as we became 

them. We became the cells 

which make us. 

 

Is this the messiness of actual living? 

 

Did you hear him? 

Yes. 

What did he say?

'Cells keep growing and dying' 

 

It didn't help us knowing;

The tributaries fill. 

Each 

breath

above 

the

water

taking 

toll. 

 

Is this the messiness of actual living? 

 

We find out. 

We know. 

We do not understand.