By allelos - Posted on 09 November 2011

Guy Fawkes Day

 

Blow up my heart
and leave its pieces
coalescing
slowly gathering in bits
protoplasmic slithers
crawling back across the
floor.
Reform the shrapnel shards
to unforseen configurations
captured by the phantom pull
of a gravity you do
not know you have.

Hope is dynamite
explodes the past
to ever branching, flowing outward,
starry fingered, curling trails.
Hope is a whisper
to the flying pieces
to settle softly
along the gradient
lines of force
that point in silence
to the future.

Hope is a bomb.
Blow up my heart.