had it been different
had it been otherwise
i might not have conceived
such an elaborate disguise
as we walked, that night
along the river that cries
for the damned, the departed
we can only surmise
this life, a bird
and how quickly she flies
each birth borne
for it’s own demise
hilarity, this mask i wear
to cover these eyes
and this cloak of deception
has so many ties
intricately clasped
and threaded by lies
and the form of a crow
laughing may rise
darkly into
forbidding skies
and can you hear it, this music
beyond reason there lies
a party
and how sweet, the lullabies
and joy, just a baby
with a spark in her eyes
let’s cast off these costumes
mortality, a guise
naked on the edge of this infinite night
Greg Alston is a gardener, cook, father and some other things, too.
Boulder Weekly accepts poetry and flash fiction submissions of 450 words/35 lines or fewer, accompanied by a one-sentence bio of the author.
Send to: poetry@boulderweekly.com
