by Heather Rae

Standing in its jam
my hand blindly
searching for splinters,
pleading for a way
In or maybe out
not even a budge
And so again
His need,
hidden in the silent whistle,
sounds the order.
Dropping the empty jar
of our will
to shatter at our feet.
Jagged images
wearing empty faces
crying for retreat.
Wondering whos turn
to be caught
in his snare,
dragged by its net
through the wake.
Stepping to where
we can no longer touch,
But he can.
Tossed aboard
waiting for it's tether
to loose, and its metal
clanging in
fall to the bottom hull.
Waves without mercy
knock hard ,
their rocking
grows louder,
as a siren sounds,
even today
It won't win.
Our mind
begging to find
them still.
Straining to forget
his weight.
No tok only a tic,
Stuck in the between
of the now and after
We watch it all,
images falling
amist the other
flat reminders
neatly placed on pages,
Each edge
soon to darn
a yellowish Brown.
Glancing at the sky
dressed in a dull blue,
reminds me I've been
set free, at least
until the next
again.