Olik

i know, i know,
i feel it too
the anger and rage and
things kept secret, unaware;
kept safe

won't you cover up
the things you abhor
in glitter and gold
to conceal those truths
unsightly and reprehensible
grotesque impurities and decayed self-securities

won't you cast back someday
a wary glance over your shoulder
and into the past;
i'd missed what was-- misconstrued

won't you glance up
back into the sky
though won't you comb through
your little white lies
your incomplete truths
is there still a point to disguising your tears?
is there a comfort to tallying years?

i know, i know,
i feel it too
reticence toward vindictiveness;
traipsing a line so thin as to not to be crossed
the weight of innumerable warnings
against scorn toward what was lost

yet it was you
and only you
at the end of the road
where all things end;

at the end of time
where all things lie;

at the end of the path
where blue bleeds into green;

into myriad obscurities
myriad mysteries;

i know, i know,
i feel it too
such consuming hollowness
and those empty reflections