The weight of a world upon our shoulders,
a boundless love trapped in our rib cage,
our frown clouded by the sorrow of aeons,
sunlit waves caressing our mouth corners,
a dream entangled in the precepts of age,
our thoughts shaken to the very nucleons,
the frequencies of the past streaming answers,
a secret in our eyes dancing to the carnage,
our hearts stripped by pretty surgeons,
the present covered in blazing blisters,
a future sculpted by the wisdom of mileage,
we’re flowers grown in the darkest dungeons
clinging to the fast-passing like cleavers,
while our souls pretend to be mortal.
© Syl R. Martin