Behind that mask we carry
as a blind alley to our living
drowning our secrets in a mighty silence
sometimes hot, sometimes cold,
splashing like crystal water, too rare
by moments for tomorrow,
while we today imbibe this virgin air .
We could rust in shades
or shine in our appeasing fights
between hopes and blind despair
we are pushing our lives forth in a hurry
from its lonely hardiness,
knowing we could choke before
the fields will lie still.
How much we ever bloom
in our convulsive tendrils creep
and round a deep root
of the bent grass where I lay
you bow over my complexion
and save me in the August sun
with white shades of pale.
You are the shimmer in the setting sun
A lively murmur of a summer day
surrounded by hills in moonlight
you still reach the corner of my heart
the red blood that rules my desire
my wills you bind in secret of thy art
without perplexity or enquires.
July 2016 ©k.c.