knife’s edge

 
 
 
My heart is on the edge of a knife–
not licensed surgery,
just self-medication for pain.
What else is true?
Betrayal by the gods can result in confusion.
Sometimes it all seems clear and clean and real —
When sensation makes sense.
Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen,
’cause they’re all busy looking at their own.
Knife’s edge – reflective end of the rainbow
See the shining beatitude, the joyous reunion.
When all the lonely, separated strands and coloured bands
finally find their proper placement in celestial harmony.
Oh, the trumpets will sound calling to glory.
But what else is true?
Are there crises of war throughout the land?
Are there wounds crying for attendance while our leaders shout to proselytize?
Are there cowering souls crying for release
hidden by cubicles or corner offices or ivory towers?
Self-defined protagonists,
playing at mind games, convoluted strategies, never quite sure
who they are?
Are there banners flying, urging all to attend the great banquet?
Is this the feast for which we’ve come?
The knife cuts insidious, deranged.
Does it matter why we bleed?
.
.
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