The Page

Best when confronted with evidence that jar the senses

As first response to evaluate the integrity of your lenses

The surface scratches you have become accustomed to

Reading the angles, playing the light, like you do

What compromise, what indulgence, what privilege you okayed

How culpable stand in denial of your own perceptions betrayed

Not wishing or hoping, no different to what you see

For what is will need truth to make it something it could be

What you desire to hear, and again with your inner ear

Drowning in adrenalised arteries, veins flooded with fear

Negotiating the ebb and flow of unrestrained attacks

Through dense furrows lined with fur and dust and wax

What olfactory trigger will power emotional release

What smell subtracts or increases heart’s ease

How a grifting, drifting, casually enveloping cloud

Fills your ears with someone else’s heart beating loud

The echo of the melancholy morning-sun’s gentle caress

The way the light softly even the cursed places with touch bless

What shies from, rush to the treasured, tactile truth

There is done and clumsily so, and always there is ruth

Cleanliness requires action to reveal the Godliness it proposes

The fake news ever the promise of moonlight and roses

No trick to acting, knowing all the world a stage

The parts are written and it reads, you are the page

SP