Abrasions

like sandpaper those intimations sought to rhasp and wear me thin;
though I'd never let them win.
I'll survive through stifled screams, if just to dine on bartered dreams
and throw the yolk of their choke hold asunder
and revel in the resultant thunder, that storms through planes of indiscretion
hoping every blade of grass repents; although in softly flowing patterns, there is nothing it resents.

Time may do the same of this mortal human frame.
Life as well divines its interpretive hell.
where was divinity lifted to? where was it when it fell?
What imperfect pedestal; erected by less than perfect beings could make the less than godly sing?

I seek for less and more than I am, and remain a single being; ripped and torn through time and space,
forlorn of lost love and somehow found, in places and spaces where demons freely fornicate with angels on those fertile planes of sound, yet we swim through salacious salvation all around.