The riven

An essence remains where endeavour melts away the noisome; the one the devil selects to grease the flanks. Unsteady knees and shoulders that droop. A thousand seasons couldn’t whisk away these scars; these lines of peril writ of the ashes of those darkened days.

I walk the glade because i’ve been emptied. I need to breathe in the expanse. I need to fill my lungs with green earth imbued with raw mirth. Even though my eyes surveil through a veil that’s been sullied. I carve a path over the riven. Treading over these fragments that pinch the grass. And not because of necessity. Because it shaves the space of its constrictions.

Shall we grip the path we master? Shall we never stray in impenetrable venues where fresh eyes glaze over new bones. Where time is a substance that leaves grime on your palms. Where melancholy is a song never sung; unto its heart, never clung. I want to commit to this ease. To a soirée of mixed value, intermingling, content to leave our judgements at the door. No score to settle in this twinge of empty meddle. No bones to pick in this leisure of shenanigans. Just a wisened tongue to crease the sadness into folds where it’s neatly tucked away in the back of your mind.