Sometimes we're running on empty but what happens when running on empty becomes the norm? We move, in tiny degrees, toward normalcy and what felt like making magic happen becomes the mundane. The sorcery we once felt moved mountains, now becomes commonplace. Sometimes there is no one behind the curtain, just us doing everything we can to stay afloat and keep love alive.
Bells and Whistles
This threadbare sorcery
Has gotten me nowhere
Now I wallow in defeat
Accepting these reflections
These pillars of fire
Writing my name against the wall
An inevitable macabre work of art
Forsaken but unforgettable
How could this detailed work
Etchings made while in this trance
Made in this eternal heat
Be anything but meaningless?
This infernal heart
Has a devil in the details
Putting faces on these restless ghosts
Waiting to betray this
Out of practice
I collapse into craven cravings
Amidst dark days
And lunar craters
This amateur arcanity
Placing runes in familiar places
Positions caught in undertow
And now just lost at sea
Like so much floating fire
Bioluminescent dust
Caught on tidal rivers running
A flame that's never going dark
Holding itself together
With nothing left but faith to doubt
Entropy has nothing on my heart
And order is chaos acting out
Nothing but the bells and whistles
Substance difficult to suss
Ingredients left still unlisted
Twenty questions unresolved
How you could restart this machinery
Running on fumes without a thought
An action without cause of ending
And claim a never-ceasing love
Photo credit: Riccardo Bertolo - https://www.instagram.com/rik_berto/
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