Unfurling

Could I become the reason why
There’s something more to wake and choose to find
With fingers curling slowly on a blade that none could pry
…are reasons really good enough to sever or to justify the bind?

I wonder, all the same,
If it was shame or just a name
Or just an answer that I needed
So that something fully realized could shield me from the blame as I retreated

Believing, there in diffidence,
Were isolated islands in an ocean made of beads
And there, within a sky I knew was painted cold in insolence
…I tried to be the reason I continued drawing breath through broken reeds

Peculiar, in a sense,
That each lament was mere pretense
And that, with fingers slowly curling
’round the blade I feared to hold, I simply called it self-defense instead of calling it reality unfurling