Some of Us

Some of Us

 

Some of Us,

work only from connective solar power,

intimate bridges that hinge themselves,

to another’s ability and willingness to open their draw bridge,

while we simultaneously encourage them to walk across ours,

and during these exchanges,

a powerfully cathartic combustion erupts,

skulls and rib cages are torn away,

allowing the freedom from our introspective breezes,

to tango with one another’s doubt and gentleness

 

Most of Them,

I’ve realized… don’t.

don’t need this exchange in order to breathe, to keep going,

or to do their work.

I envy these people because they don’t need anything from anyone,

they’re like a single cell organisms,

without the requirement of dependence to keep on living,

I wish I understood it, and although I don’t,

I can’t pretend that they don’t exist,

or even that they don’t thrive.

 

Some of Us,

simply can’t.

the action of intimacy is what keeps our batteries charged,

keeps the blood red,

keeps the dance alive,

keeps the pistols holstered,

the bite sheathed,

the pressure reasonable,

the honesty willing,

a future more than counted time,

and gives the tear its chance to slide

 

By: Bryan Matthew Boutwell / LiveFiction.net