Strides

Under a bruised sky

inhibitions crashed in like the tide,

solace shattered, swept asunder by

the biting undertow.

Starving strides will never be wide enough

to carry me fast enough

to someplace far enough

beyond the reaches of this pain.

A golden mind in chains.

Under a denim sky, vagrant hearts

sew patches into its girth.

Condemned by the world from birth

to wander all alone.

To shift about like sentient smoke,

as those they pass cough and choke.

This is not our revenge.

It’s just the debt we’ve been taught

to owe.

Under a soft flannel sky, rife with starlit holes,

a draft creeps through and bathes us

in this defining cold

that sinks straight to the bone.

When life-force then corrodes

and pours us out, beyond the bruises

of the sky,

we rise to meet

a destiny more kind.

Our forever home.