Hooked upon the Hinges

Sometimes when on the fringes,
we stare into blinding lights,
get hooked upon the hinges,
weep dry tears throughout the night.

Sometimes our desert soul screams,
searches for vulture-life bliss,
tears out the mirage of seams,
betrays, fronts our eyes’ stark hiss.

Sometimes we grow to love what
isn’t- ours nor theirs in Time.
We steal the hands of zealots
and pretend ourselves sublime.

Sometimes we are berated,
Our throats fried in calloused strife.
Lotus petals fall, jaded;
The delusive sea lies rife.

But sometimes, though still womb-trapped,
confined to that which bears us,
we draw our own self-same map-
Escape on some seething bus:

We find the wet eyes of light
And dream our new dream, despite.

The City's Blinding Lights

The City’s Blinding Lights

2 thoughts on “Hooked upon the Hinges

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