I am Century

I’ve secured abandon in these inconsistencies;
never reckless
with countless stanzas defining these anomalies
with the quiver of my pen
I peruse discretion with a turned cheek;
sadness with a gilded tear
The sun never sets on my potential
My effort’s influential

Uncertainty is never written in the tilt of the moon;
It simply is as it is
My prevalence is wild enough to appease even the raven as he reflects pride over the cleanest of bone
I am unique; I have century in my spirit
I am an old soul; I cast depth through these fingertips

The rituals of the crestfallen intrigue me;
their distortions;
the taint of their rind as they excrete poison to be drank at dawn, treating their days with malaise
Rituals negotiated beneath their idle,
accentuating life with unsettled gloom,
How do we provoke those who have left us
to secure life with a cleansing breath?

I guide, unfastened from these wounds;
I tread securely in the presence of the grey
even though I encounter emotions that are chalky and unbending,
I whistle grit unto the ears
I light fires beneath feet
I soothe the tongues of ravens perusing the fray in search of victuals;
I am the provision