Grime and Ghosts

I thought I could hear the spirits that linger

   in the safety of the shifting pages of books,

that I watched the turning ground with glass golden eyes,
   
  my smile breaking apart the sunrise.

I used to tell tantalizing stories that dripped
 
    sickly sweet lies and blackened gritty truths.

Once I tried to weigh out the heavy thoughts that men carry,
 
  and dissect their greying living hearts.

I thought that the wolves danced secret sacred dances,
   
   that the trees whispered wandering wisps of truth,

that held the essence of trial and love.

But here I stand in the breaking sunrise,
 
  as my smile shatters on the ground.

Here I lay in the stiff arms of books,
 
 my own ghosts throwing out pleas in the dark

Look at me with my glittering eagle eyes

  covered in the red of a thousand sins.

Here I am, chocking out glass shards of stories,

as they cut up the spirits of books in in the wind.