there are only so many metaphors
that serve to justify this pain
so many words
chewed up
and spit back out
onto surfaces
whose purpose
carries all burdens
these feelings are like water
journeying alone
in a fearless freefall
crashing into the earth below
to join the fates
that all have known
still, each fragment
leaves its mark
for others to embark upon
in the hour
of our exodus to exile
the skies belong to one
as one to all
as life itself
bleeds into the eyes
at the horizon
we take our tragic pittance
wrought from anguish
each within the alchemy intrinsic
to their own
to spin the loom
and weave majestic tapestries
of triumph
to share the secrets
intimately held
by furtive moons
Max, or Not 