Septicemic

My friend, we grit chivalry, still tethered to the spot
Where foundations built of memories crack as they grow apart.
Not willing to let go of what has crumbled and decayed;
Too wistful for the careless whirl of nights staved into day.

Profusely mined of goodwill, but continuing to reach out
With helping hands, now granulated, to a latex covered heart.
A host that spreads misery to his apathetic guest;
Building bridges to cross islands, when quarantine called for separate tents.

The only thing we agree on: pretending, while scouting indolent terrain;
Because composure changes nothing if pride is getting in the way.
As gestures go unnoticed gnashing teeth arrange dead smiles;
Each failed remedy brews tension, heating blood into a boil.

Two clowns that once laughed, now stare back, afraid to strike.
We may not kill each other, but we’re ready for a fight.
History too ancient to forget unless we carve it out with knives;
And I’m tired of wounds that beget wounds, full of plague, and sick of time.

Cody Hulbert Copyright, 2015

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