Angles

World askew upon a tangled thread

barely dangling by sanity’s frayed string,

surrounded by the shards of silvery images,

the fractured stars in the dream sky

summoned after the sunset

from strolls through the snow globes,

haunted by the echoes of prophets

who ripped at the ball’s red velvet gown

and left is pasted on the mirror

like a post it for warnings

over things that never happen.

 

Still the heart consumed in want

has no eyes to care

about the boxes that snare with fear

those logic gurus that only chain minds

inside a coffin kept in a library.

 

Silence comes from knowing

how what eats at the insides,

creates hole that must be filled,

only it works at times

from looking at life sideways

though others claim its bizarre

until you find the door

out of the suffocation others call freedom,

finally finding happiness

not in the walls they say is paradise,

but from embracing what is tilted

and makes you truly happy.