creases

---

staring out the bus window, the rain blurs my vision
like sight in my sleep, marred by scarring derision
they say her spirit lives within me
it feels I'm marching without destiny
I long for her mountains to roll through my soul
these dark clouds only pierce and cajole
I'm a crumpled paper stretched for a second life
and all the old creases intent on new strife
weaving its plotting tributaries into a river of discord
my sorrows rotting on the floodplains like blood on a sword
I close my eyes, but the pane grows acute
I sleep never more, the sickness has taken root

� Caleb Andrew Walser 2002