fragile hearts
composed of fractured shards
of selenite
soon fall
from the silence
strewn long
throughout the night
some will dissipate
upon the kiss
of eclipsed atmosphere
while others infiltrate
the earth’s defenses
waiting to be found
is this power
within my pen
enough to stay
disappointment?
can these sunken eyes
sustain the curtain’s calling
dirt and all?
through these weary eyes
of stinging
i fail
to see the answer
no longer does water well
in the aqueduct
of quiescence
and gone
is any semblance
of the joy
that once we knew
having joined
the desperate masses
as envoys of muted morass
precious hours spent
relentlessly toiling
for elusive spoils
spanning the breadth
of a breathlessness
unbridled
’til our heads withered
wayward
down the trail
of idle absurdity
as frail
as the feathered waif
unhidden
on a leaf-barren poplar
sonically assailed
by a hail-tinged doppler shriek
with a tail that spanned the ages
Max, or Not 
Sometimes our hearts break, because they’re fragile, and too naive, but its just like any of the other lessons of life we must learn from…
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Reblogged this on Sudden Denouement Literary Collective and commented:
Max Meunier/Dissociative Void
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This is so hauntingly melancholy and so beautiful at the same time. This really got under my skin my friend. Gorgeously sad word.
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Your skill keeps amazing me.
I can’t read this only once, either.
I am completely ill-equipped to respond adequately. So I’ll just say that I am gobsmacked. And I smile as I say that, but a smiley face emoji is just so wrong right now…
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“precious hours spent relentlessly toiling for elusive spoils” … no words; just a profound acknowledgment of this form of reality…
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I especially like : no longer does water well
in the aqueduct
of quiescence
and the feathered waif. Good stuff.
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