(picture is of Bear Lake Colorado with twinges of snow - http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5047/5372070046_634089b491.jpg )

Wooden Nickle Redemptions.

 

the sawtooth shadows

of teeth that can only grind 

against the sky.  old they are

unable to rip and shred.

 

the path out was to be again

wastelands of puzzle pictures died

more was dead than alive.

an open grave of memories that once thrived

 

I had seen again that of 8 yrs old

winter snows and a waterfall

frozen solid through as jewelry

no, that magic’s trampled

 

to cringe to touch

the sinkless stall of a room

where even paper white seems suspect

relief is no pleasure but sin.

 

why so quiet

I really saw so much of nothing

every oo I was screwed out of

and then worried after as I took my times to explore

 

to know how to contribute

what or even to connect

I’m bereft

I’m just expected to know

 

once upon a time I did.

I fought to deaths

I was shown how I often bludgeoned on my dreams

and lost ev’ry battle to details 

 

to say I saw somber

discovered what’s to be cleared 

before fires rage through  all

both good and the hurt

 

only to see how if I don’t try

any other can and will

drop the sodas to spray the cars

to grill up memories lakeside.

 

I found then epiphany

I’m just of a lesser god

with the wooden nickle redemptions

and yet I’ve my Resurrection.