the Truth

Caribbean Sea salt on southern wounds,

I pay for Eve as you live out your manhood on the broken chards of my trust,

Sea salt runs from your soil-colored- fingers,

Dirt and sting enter places I once presumed you’d close,

Your superficial attempts reign like an empire,

But fall, wobbling to quarter-truths,

You declare yourself not the victor, but the victim,

And then collapse to the reality

That even if the dream was tight in your grasp,

You wouldn’t know how to keep it. 

Copyright © 2012 Nichelle Calhoun


3 thoughts on “the Truth

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