Treasonous

The streetlights flash a repeating pattern

too late to guide anything walking.

Reflections of insights like daybreaks on leaves.

Shadows that mimic things alive in memories

or a stomach full of words swallowed best left

unsaid or unspoken because they would

create interpretations of things too fragile

to be broken or even created and set free.

These things live in the eyes the color of skies

on a stormy day, opened to you on knees bended

begging for understanding and believing

even fully acknowledging these passions fall on

ears disbelieving, eyes jaded, and fingers calloused

against the cold of the past and truths unburied.