January days are wet
and love-soaked,
like my heart.
Walking for hours:
god’s face appears
as a carpenter or
a stonemason.
A magician
or the dead.
Calmly removing raisins
from the sky, words splash
against my awkwardness,
leaving it bare and
essential.
Maybe it wasn’t you,
per se. Maybe you were
just an instrument. A
vessel for my fear.
Corners are crooked
and dark. Decisions
are easily made and
quickly regretted.
The day begins again.
And you weep for the end
of it, every night for the
rest of your life.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
To realize that,
Those who are,
Or,
Those who wish to be,
Close to us,
Are hurt by our fear,
By our pain,
By our bleeding injury,
That becomes,
A soul deep pain,
When we see,
What we have done.
I believe time can heal most wounds and if they are not healed at there is perspective gained.
Powerful writing!
Peace
I like the idea of the corners being crooked and dark, like where these thoughts hide in our minds.
I liked this piece. “Maybe you were / just an instrument. A / vessel for my fear.”
Good use of line breaks here.
Anonant – I agree. Thanks for your insight.
Kim – Exactly!
Gabriel – Thanks for noticing. 🙂
Kim,
it’s like they’re laying in wait for us sometimes,
waiting for us to smile and brighten in the face,
and then they’ll come out and rob our bags
full of eagerness and excitement.