Precision Surgery Required

My blog is so not boring, Lou.

Precision Surgery Required

It was supposed to be over bandaid quick
This was the simple plan without illusions
But minds left alone can change
Minds left to cracked alley wanderings
Might make another turn,
Delay the path to home just to see
Where the faded beat down grass leads

And hope left alone can wait for the appointed day
Burning low on the back burner, ready to ignite
Alcohol flames that flash ere one can say it lightens
The story said we’d burn together
Cautionary tales will convict us
before allegations are named

Left hope festered down to a gram
Always waiting in the darkness
For the dawn of sun to rise
To play a role in careless dreams
To turn bleak reminders of all those turns,
Of what you said while palming embers
What is it that hope hopes for?

Now all the things you said would never die
Had already withered by your last breath
How can we go home to this,
Tree lined streets blown to splinters
In the middle of a drunken night?
What can there be to praise in such dust?

What have we done, but torn and shredded
Forgotten and breezed away,
Only flitting in and out in dreams?
Rip the plaster away quick like a bee sting
And run; this was the plan
But I lingered and wandered too close to home
One void summer, the blank before the period.