Smoking Mirror

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Going home to a place that

Faded away

With time, with life, with age

Survival is death.

The heavens in my eyes opened up

Flooding me

Awakening me

Liberating me, my

Pristine superficiality

Shattered.

Sleep, food, sex, air

Oblivion.

The mirror of my conscience

Reflecting my

Hopes, my fears, my love, my rage.

Rage for my

Insatiable ideals

Lost within infinite waste

In that space

So precious and perfect and perilous and free.

Foggy, streaked, cracked

Gone.

Empty.

Open.

The future

Filed under: Poetry Tagged: activism, conscience, grief, guilt, hope, liberation, loss, rage, shame, the past, time