True Inheritance

We will find our true inheritance.

Not In the mad calligraphy of trees, like someone said, or a clear plunge into the pool of many betrayals.

In the rivers of blood flowing through those streets, and in the sunken skulls hanging on gold-rimmed tapestries.

In the whispering willows that weigh down under the burden of secrets too much to carry, and in the pirouetting fairy dust bringing gold magic into momentum.

In the translation of nonexistent dimensions, amid rooted galaxies in welkin rings inside my name.

Under the cliffs housing ricocheting falls, loosened catches of drowsy screams.

While sewing up the cataclysmic gongs reverberating echoes surging through my poisoned vessels, and after paraphrasing the blank pages spoken straight through conundrum.

But most of all, inside the dead washed up on the beach sand they said was golden down from heavens’ clouds. In the silent acknowledgements of cold horror that grasps the spires kissing the blue silk of sky.  In the sea waters that churns up rigged souls that were thrown out by solitary islands in the midst of red lagoons.

And in the clouds drifting past your eyes that are ashes left by a shooting star. In the rising tides that engulf the best of our laughs and give way to the most beautiful of the innumerable tragedies we personify. 

And in little erased flecks, in memos bursting from our tongues. In the many layered frequencies inaudible in their being, and in the spray of whispered apologies not breathed.

We will find our true inheritance.

Tell yourself that.

We will.