Wednesday, June 20, 2018

Across Inconstant Breath


Would that this skin
this frail armor
atop the husk of
slow departure - 

Would that it held
against the teeth 
of night's maw
against the sharp
ache of claws 
drawn down across
inconstant breath, 
shivered tissue 
awash in the sweat
of fear

Doubting the wisdoms
of the light world
augering ever deeper
into the droning
tones of our 
voices repeating 
that our ends will
not be the ends of us

Our dreams will not
explode like champagne
flutes against dark marble
as we disappear into 
places beyond this globe

Shadows grasp and call
telling us the lies within
our hopes will soon enough
shine, soon enouogh gleam
as the sword we have always
felt at the nape of our 
necks falls, and we are 
made true at last, 
finally honest in our 
surrender and dissolution

By Patrick M. Tracy

The Narrow and Brambled Path

By Patrick M. Tracy

I have stood 
at the edge of the bright plain 
looking down 
across the good, cleared land 
and again 
I have shown those fields my back 
the gloom 
of the wood falling upon me 
the dappled sun and shattered sky 
the low chorus of trees 
the stillness 
of the lonely path before me 
and every step 
breaks faith with something 
leaving all promises undone 
all ties unbound 
but these 
are the wages and cost of the journey 
of the beautiful silence 
of the broken.

Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Mortal Projectile Falls

These sweet oblivions
turn sour soon enough

All forevers going far
outside the colored lines

All grasping hopes doomed
to slip across our palms

The vision through the funhouse
mirror almost accurate to the twist

The slew of all our hopes
bending back and darker

The spiral breaking
the limits of us sprung

Hurtling further and stranger
our targets moving windward

Aspirations turning to regrets
as our mortal projectile falls

Predictable as mathematics into
the bosom of the burying ground

Less than half completed
far more than mostly broken

And perhaps proud of some small
triumphs we hold like talismans

Against what bitter eons of night
we may yet turn and witness

By Patrick M. Tracy

Across Inconstant Breath

Would that this skin this frail armor atop the husk of slow departure -  Would that it held against the teeth  of night's maw a...