Strides
Under a bruised sky
inhibitions crashed in like the tide,
solace shattered, swept asunder by
the biting undertow.
Starving strides will never be wide enough
to carry me fast enough
to someplace far enough
beyond the reaches of this pain.
A golden mind in chains.
Under a denim sky, vagrant hearts
sew patches into its girth.
Condemned by the world from birth
to wander all alone.
To shift about like sentient smoke,
as those they pass cough and choke.
This is not our revenge.
It’s just the debt we’ve been taught
to owe.
Under a soft flannel sky, rife with starlit holes,
a draft creeps through and bathes us
in this defining cold
that sinks straight to the bone.
When life-force then corrodes
and pours us out, beyond the bruises
of the sky,
we rise to meet
a destiny more kind.
Our forever home.