I get lost in the double helix of good and bad.
The road to hell must be some kind of mirage,
an inverse cast of desert magic
that instead of shaded rest for the weary and heavy-laden
from the consummation of the rain,
from the jolt of a chance breeze,
from the dazzle even of the prodigal, extravagant sun.
It’s a figment of twisted desire,
this need for punishment,
torture, repayment for wrongs.
Some kind of misplaced grief
that calls out for comfort and
finds, instead, requirement.
I won’t weigh you down
with any intentions,
especially those that seem good,
that seem useful, productive,
hopelessly tangled with virtuous action.
If you call out, I will merge your grief with my own,
and if we tumble down to the sand together,
dazed by the shock of what’s lost,
then the sand,
will hold us,
like two feathers that have floated here,
the two lightest darklings you can imagine.
Wednesday Vignette is brought to us by Flutter & Hum.