in a sorry world a version of Odysseus stood upon the surface of an Earth that yearned for just a kiss
for when his feeble fingers caress the soil,
flowers bloom across the land from the underworld.
somewhere along the way it seems I’ve been led astray
from the blossoms and tweeds that arose in his steps
towards the snakes devils quiet nothingness of my mind
where the gods scream that alas, it is fated for him to lead the trail of flowers
and for me to follow crushing each poppy beneath my soles behind
the man, it is my fate to follow behind
him that embodies my mother and father marching towards the gateways of hell
and their words echo wall to wall in my nothing-brain
it resonates with me every time my foot steps forward.
weaving unweaving and weaving anew
the blanket of hope we see engulfed with the flames of vengeance —
the flame we feel envenom our veins that sliver up
inching closer to our silver hearts.
yet, Odysseus, he is encapsulated in glory and love and
he sails upon a wishful breeze amidst the grim, scary storm
that picks the rest of us up from the floors
within the wooden walls we thought were home
but when the waves have smashed my raft into pieces
then I will have no choice, and I will swim
as I watch him soar past me
a generous breath of air fluttering by like a moth.