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I Am Santo

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Beat this riot of turbulent discord, shorting wires in the puddles of a Main Street where the huddled parade. Claxon earnestness screams for justice, yet hands fail balance and the rigors of responsibility cause soul tremble; edgy mornings that arrive as brilliant floods. Drowning, hands clutch a fist full of hardship, throat choking on the grief of yesterday’s chill. Alone, staring into the sun, going blind with the ease of rust on ancient springs, winter arrives as a blast of short white days. Weathering them all, these gray eyes search at the worry of untamed futures and squint against the steel of His cross. Vanity, fluency in the language of self-interest, and the collection basket floats across pews burdened by the faltering faith of loitering spirits. They’re gone from here, serving in the ghost lights of tomorrow’s mist; an early morning assault on the purity of day. He was day. Yet all he ever knew was an endless night, stung by a brilliant sun. #selfportrait #selfie #morning #light #cross #sunlight #bright #blueeyes #writer #writing #poem #poetry (at Crosshairs)

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