Option, perception or a realization

I see shreds
Of me
Flying away

I know I can’t
Be silent
And watch them stray

And I also know
I can’t choose
And but one let them loose

I try
Sewing up
The rest

But they turn smaller
And smaller
To thwart my quest

So I build
A shield around me
But it doesn’t pass the test

I gather
The autumn leaves
To find some glue

But all I find
Is tired
Dusty dew

So I let them go
As far as
They can fall

After the horizon
Coming and going would make
No difference at all

SIX FEET UNDER

In mist and haze
A dark, dark maze

Numbers deceive
Making me believe

That I can breathe
But I can’t be free

Of lost reveries
And clinging memories

In a grave of hate
That rests on a riot’s blade

Of passion, faith
And desires raped

I bleed my past
Through my eyes chaste

But six feet under
Gravity is lower

I dig out the grave
With that same blade

Blurring the numerical blur
As a new spirit I unfurl

With faith’s rope I climb
Leaving the departed in time

To get caught again in serendipity
But this time with no liquidity