Published poem- The myths woven by us

Reflect a splintered fragment like splintered glass
in a mirrored rear-view
on a rusted car sitting in the woods abandoned

invented stories come out of our yawning abyss,
from our minds, half asleep

the fluid movement of our words moves with
unnerving ease, like wet
paint dripping off a ‘wet paint’ sign

we get addicted to our thoughts like a drunk gets
addicted to an empty liquor bottle

we play out of tune like evaporated milk,
yet we drink it

we play with others then toss them aside
like glued labels on old sneakers,

to them, can’t have the pain without
the pleasure

we look out of the corner of our eye
like a blind cat looks around
a corner searching for blind dogs

we believe there is a light inside us
surrounded by four stones,

the soul, the heart, passion, and belief,

yet we weave the myths
with a needle
and invisible thread,

but that’s like sewing a bullet into a revolver,

once the shot is fired, the damage is done

we have disclosed ourselves like
water has disclosed
itself to a crack in a dam

and then we try to put the water into
a single cup and offer it
to someone who’s drowned

we prey on other’s weaknesses
like dust preys on a drought;

feathers once filled a small room,

paid a penalty for participating
in child’s play

feathers float through stale air,
children grab as to catch,

much like myths woven
by them at
some time in the future

when they realize their dreams can’t be touched,
much like the feathers

much like lost car keys to an abandoned, rusted car,
the wet paint no longer drips.

Copyright © 04/22/2013 lance sheridan®