Grace

A Poem by Aramey

Just stretching my poetic muscles- it has definitely been too long.

Stars as they pass,
in such clandestine skies
shining, or so it looks,
from onlookers gone awry.
Night's canvas is painted
in drastically beautiful lies,
yet our gaze, it wonders
how it feels to be fine.

An invisible surface so inexcusably torrid
that it incinerates the night.
An aperture from humanity, so carefully warded,
avoiding the fall to the depths of man's chasm.
Because man refuses to recognize emotion,
as a fuel that can destroy if left to wander.
a trap wider than any dark sea or vast ocean.
Oh, how they break what they set out to honor.

The sounds of broken, jagged fingernails
pressing down and trailing on rough canvas.
Slowly it comes, a push just an inch at a time,
until inch by inch, a decent which breeds madness.
Although the stars have seen such things,
they do not understand the way in which we breathe.
For some a grace, when they simply let go,
A tip-toe, a knowing, in a single seed.