[POEM] A Little Canary that Grows Deafening with Age

Still don’t know what One’s been told,

only knowing the maturity of “growing” old.

One knows Them, They know thee;

drowning in a Sea of Faux-certainty.

When One makes a World this bright,

oh Darling, such a Sight.

Lost in hypnosis to Love’s subtle prognosis.

“When did the Sun become the Moon?”

“Shame, is it real?”

All I know is the cold, reimagining warmth until the Image takes hold.

Trees of Doubt sprout of of the Ground,

leaving Roots of Truth buried under the Crown.

Nevermind, Seeds were sewn;

another Dog left to pick his Bone.

Imagining Love from an Imaginary Darling.

Crackling in the ears, hearing Nobodies.

Exchanging Mine-yours: Imaginary make-up for Imaginary struggles.

Sweet little Devil Child, Desert Queen;

crackling Love drying under the Sun-moon.

Progressing the churning, hoping for a bloom.

Months may have passed, remembering is daunting.

Ghosts roll around the Eyes, interpreting the Haunting.

Don’t want to see It, yet here It is again;

wondering if One’s too old to still play pretend,

preservation in Childhood regresses the tired trends.

Tell what You need,

before drowning in the Sea of Uncertainty.

Perhaps the Universe could see the Imaginaries,

or whisper a thought to One’s own Canary.