Seeming

Wrapped up in the intimation of a figure stoic
Wearing, even now, a garment partially heroic
Speaking words I never really understood completely
Uttered as if confidential whispering discreetly

Standing here as if it mattered to you in the merest
Modicum of meaning yet I held you, ever dearest
Bolstering the feeble feeling that if I could barter
More than what I had then maybe none would be the martyr

Wrapped up in insinuation cauterized and scarring
Underneath a gauze umbrella where the pain is jarring
Lying through the teeth I’m gritting tight to hold the torrent
Of the failing benediction you would never warrant

Slipping slowly with a clatter made of apprehension
In a field of memories I’ve learned to never mention
Maybe all I’ve ever been is something you were dreaming
Sadly, though, you’ve never seen me…all you’ve ever seen is how I’m seeming

Confession

I feel as though I calculate
And never make a single calculation
I measure out the permanence that wasn’t really permanent
In values organized in permutations

I set a set of sliding scales
Against the metaphors of old deception
I find in the dividing there are only larger dividends
To quantify the meaning of exception

I feel like I’m conspiring
But never wear the mask of conspiration
I organize the images and elements and reasoning
Until I cannot see a complication

I put another piece in place
Without a thought and, so, without concession
I walk along a dotted line of severed veins and arteries
And cannot hear the blood over the sound that I omit from each confession

Should

That mandatory whisper with a voice devoid of breath
Left speaking of tomorrow as if yesterday was death
And curling little fingers ’round the fallacies of truth
To cast a shadow of our age upon our youth

With minatory meaning and a sharpness in a glance
That says the gamble made was never really worth the chance
But beckoning statistics that would beg of our belief
As if a tonic for a wound of no relief

In predatory fashion with a hunger never full
And gifting every eye apparel made from heavy wool
Though telling us to see beyond the veil of new demand
Solidifying not a bit of what we planned

By auditory absence of a confirmation’s note
To grant a revelation from a cycle duly rote
With empty affirmations written on the page of could
Are we inscribing many stories ‘neath the never-ending tyranny of should