Sketches From The Abyss

Strokes of charcoal tints
ride the journey of the soul,
inward in tailspin retrospection
as touches of sunrise shudder,
as quiver sundown laments.

Pain’s silhouetted to shroud its truth,
find a bandage with the fingers,
softly caress its markings
for tomorrow will heal,
the future will rise out of the shadows
and eventually break out the mirror.

Staring seals the truth
by carefully examining every feature
is god hiding in the background?
Will the day offer some gold
or another bite of melancholy?

Oh the sailor inside rides
those endless seas of torment
crashing against the stress swells,
who am I is the sail hoisted
it gets shredded and frayed,
but still stays aloft
for the voyage never ends
though the captain has gone below deck
into the chamber of fun house mirrors
with no exit sign,
just fog and voices from inside.