Typhlotic Shepard

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The chimes dance,

As the moon howls at the rising sea,

And all I can think is what happened

To the broken pieces of me?

And how they have been divided,

Between each new conquistador,

I handed them all a part of this living thing.

And I’m certain I don’t have much left any more.

So the silence always ushers a nice reprieve

From the dance of man and their reverie.

Like shadow dancers urging the sea-

To completely submerge me.

Take my hand this time,

If you must lead,

Because my eyes are closed,

And I’m left with your visionless dreams,

Of all the myths you spell out so brilliantly.

Browbeaten by your endless remedy.

What is it that ails you so?

And what is it you believe you need from me?

Because now I’m blindly tumbling-

Past where ever it was,

You were leading me.

I can only smell the bleed.

I can not fix those broken things.

Nor can you fix them with

Those little pieces of me.

Open those lips,

And spill your needs.

Because I’m tired now,

In the darkness of your blasé

And I can’t breathe.

Help me, help you.

Or just stop asking me.

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