Stutter Flash

I move my thoughts
to actions at times,
but mostly to words.

Words spoken in a flash;
the sound of it deafening.

Why do I shatter
the flesh of the few:
those precious to me?

Though they are scarce,
my aim is true.

And yet they rise like the dead,
never dying,
always shuttering.

They blur before me
in an uncanny fashion.

Moving through the house
as ghosts and shades
seeking solace in existence.

Such a place is for the lost
and should be abandoned.

But one can never tell
the outcome of the act
after living that life at length.

If the whispers would only stop,
my rusty limbs could move again.

Some have tried to oil
the joints of my aching form,
pulling away a few of the weeds ...

I think the wind was too strong,
or maybe the sun was too bright.

By all that I've found to be true:
my badge of courage is yellow,
and the white whale is nowhere in sight.


6/11/15
13:37