AIN'T GOT THAT SWING
Hurt is like a cold river, unmindful of obstacles
coursing through veins, made numb
Burning banks with icy frost, that hangs
like crystal chandeliers on empty halls
How does one even begin to talk
of the death mask of a pallbearer
his visage as white as the pale moonlight
holding a coffin high on shoulders steady
his feet shuffling forward in prayer
like a hesitant poker player
unsure of whether to raise or fold
Indifference is an answer, stoic perhaps
like a rampart strong against adversity
An eye turned blind shaded from the glare
of constant reminders that prick like thorns
How does one even start to find
a spade or shovel to bury a past
that spawns daydreams and wistful smiles
Flitting in random like drunk fairies,
wings shimmering in the sunlight
like a rainbow set afire
in the middle of a thunderstorm
Distraction surrounds decorated like a salad bar
with choices abundant and waiting
Heartstrings tugged like the fabled harp
of yore that makes even giants sleep
There is no protest against
contrived conclusions of displaced loyalty
purported acts of imagined misdemeanour
Like a mountain too steep to climb
The limbs ache from continued effort
and the jaded sound of a stuck record
stops the gong in mid-ring
and like a baton at the end of a song
It ain't got that swing
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