Making sense

Things stand in their own way.
A little difficult to imagine
but only possible to reality.
And big words take shape
to explain this small situation.
The thought of breaking free
goes about like a lone crane
holding on to the retreating rays.
Fear shines through
the impending darkness.
But night rules out everything.
There is only place for shadows here.
They hold hands
circle into protection
from a sadness
that starts to make sense.

Silence beckons

Silence beckons the broken:
the ones broken from inside.
Hope lands like a curious pod
on a deserted planet
with runnels of despair.
Darkness from the core
paints the world
out of a grim easel.
Words arrive like bogies
with weak links
that have come a long way.
And a siren waits to set off
inside every metaphor.

Understanding

Crowding around a memory that bleeds
are characters half drawn from past.
A dream like this happens in a labyrinth
and I flit like a butterfly
against a storm as I try understanding.
No, not possible.
Time moves slow and ugly
like a caterpillar.
It drives its point.