Cold Steel

My fingers slide down the edge
of ancient steel much like the
blades cutting along the ice releasing
the blood from a shredded heart now
frigid and struggling to beat to the
white noise that deafens my consciousness as
I’m dragged shotgun with the sun along
the magical mystery tour of sorrow
that threatens to swallow me
in the alcoholic haze I find myself retreating to
from the chemical safe house that helps
me cope with my extremely normal and
formidable being that burst forth with so
much happiness just a short time ago in the fragile
wilderness of a concrete jungle that constantly
pressures one to compete in the game that
is scored so unjustly that it is easy to loose
hope and find the gentle release of
death so inviting that it pains one so not
to attend and learn all there is to know about
nothing in particular to no one else but
oneself and just as the code of the honorable
way punctures your soul a kaleidoscope of
natural colors frames the beauty held
in a gaze that holds the thought that
another day doesn’t seem so bad as
long as one can admire the deadly
power restrained in cold Damascene
steel reflecting back the marbled image
of my life.

January, 2004