Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

You blink; you realize your eyes are dry
and that you haven’t cried for several days,
although the weeping recollection stays
as fresh as if you’d never stopped. “But why
would anyone ignore the truth?” you whisper. “I
won’t shred the truth,” you vow— and yet it frays
beneath you, like the handmade rug that lays
beneath you: beautiful, but beaten by
the very soul – the very same – who tied
its knots and trampled them till thin and raw,
an irony your life won’t leave denied.
But maybe it’s enough, you hope, to draw
attention to the truth that devils lied
if we were told our lives live up to awe.

Classic Joel, classic.

justwalt wrote:like a magic carpet ride...

awe... indeed
from seed to seed
awe... agreed
from deed to deed
awe... I feed
from need to need
awe... I plead
then bleed and bleed

His blood was red, but now it's drab
and crusted where he grew the scab
that once he'd pled as innocense,
but now received as recompense;
the shock, the awe, the grief, the needs
he'd had were true, but shaken, reeds.