Aura Held

I once had a gem
in the palm of my hand.
It sat neatly in the middle
Right next to the line
That is said to determine life.
Expectancy.

Helpless little gem
Victim of a cold gust
venting from the bowels of the North
to thrust it from my palm
and in between the jagged black lines
that had been life's own art.
On cold pavement.

Between the canyon walls
Black lives solitude.
now disrupted by
Starlight.

Into the abyss exists
a gleam of light
Emanating from a lost gem.
A gleam in the pupil
of my mind's eye.
the Blindside.

There's a vacuum in a noodle
of my brain
for which no day can
Articulate escape.
Cave
Crevice.

Drips Stalag-gia
Nuestra Nostalgia
Never ours.
Never?

Hours, never
Days, never
Months, severed.
A mere 12, precisely.
Withered, weathered.
Slithered Past, like a river's Current.

Now a glass aparition,
But only in my eyes
And down to my diaphram
a diagram of after thoughts.

Never to be thought of after.

On a park bench
after dark, after
the purple and crimson
Tide of day dripped its paint
to taint the dirty water.
After the tide of day retreated behind,
decending below skyscrapers
just beyond the rocky banks
of the Riverside.
There was music in her smile.

I was a child,
We were infant.
Infinite fine night!
Finite.

If my face is blank
then leave me be!

Once a sight to see.
An aurora's shell
Your Aura Held,

I roared and yelled!
Goodbye.