Finding Bliss from Blues
a momentary rest from the violins of violence…
The jazz soothes my soul
as the blues wash over me like the
smell of old clothes.
These are the true blues — the melancholy hues of a
viewed sky shifting black —
a sunsetting of the daylight shine —
a three am smoke session combined with obsessions that
stroke against sins.
Playful puffs of silent laughter,
long lost to the endless skies I stare after,
form the Casper of my
past hurt.
Not wanting to end this
rapture of silence, I seek to capture guidance
with a breath —
a momentary rest from the violins of violence that pile in
despite my defiance.
I am in need of
sirens to find me —
of kindness to sing through my… blindness
as I knead my cries into the fabric of this night sky.
Don’t just breathe,
they say.
The true blues need more than the rest of an exhale.
The day will find its way without you
unless you can sail across clouds —
unless you can
pale over veiled secrets and test the seasons within
for reasons to begin anew.
It’s a long voyage… sometimes.
The night sky is wrought with musings of new things
found inside.
like starlight finally finding our eyes —
a combining of scared nights and soft sighs—
we reach through past lives, drink from the
nectars of nostalgia,
and wait for insights to be sewn out of new horizons
if we can shy away from
hiding what lies within.
