RMC

Rare is the blue in my eyes,
for they are dark like night.
For fair it’s always been true I
feel the blue sky more than fright.

Upon my chest I wear my heart,
torn asunder by God’s thunder
it is torn so very badly apart
how it pumps makes you wonder.

I have seen chasms fail around
the implicit treat of foul reek
to where all poison can be found;
it addresses where I am weak.

I structure my day in lazy ways,
but I am proud and I love rest.
But when I do as I am suppose behave
it puts to rest all the very rest.

Structure found it’s pantheon
in the eyes of those who understand
that for me to stand is an anthem
and testament to what I can stand.

Found is the weakness in me
that begs upon dry ground sparse
with grass to lay to rest my head please
let’s not mince words as farce.

Hear I am let’s try a moment,
while I’m being real and here,
to hear each other’s torments;
together let’s make them disappear.