shironekochandesu

Clouds drift across the surface As sails do, when the wind blows Catching up to their reflections Meandering across the horizon Each mountaintop, an island, Fingers of continents breaking the ocean, Struggling for air as they sink Into a deep, hibernating slumber When the scattered stars emerge, They glimmer and wave to their twins, Their mirror images wave back. Both are unsure of which way to fall.

I wrapped your wounds with white flower petals Bled the poison from your veins And transfused what was missing with what’s mine Sung to plead the dreams to ease your pain, And watched over you while you slept. I saw that all you left Was your weapon and some blood in the stream What am I supposed to take from that?

Should I try to spin a story, An intricate blue weave, Out of nonexistent threads. When my previous dishonesty Is showing in the seams? Could I stand the disapproving glare Of the eye of the needle,   Or the crossed arms of the knit? If my history was untrue, would you Still see me as a hero, a wanderer, A fighter, a thief, a painter, A poet, a man, and a child? I’m entangled in the tapestry So carefully planned and carelessly crafted, Concealing every path but the one of truth, The tapestry is blank.