Or Blind

Mouthing my prayers to ghosts in the trees
they would dance if the night were not frozen

Only volume twelve can heal me now
but first I must learn how to breathe
and tie my shoes to the stars
at the same time

Toe the line and gasp for pleasure
all these violins sound smashing

Plates served cold with stones and thorns
melancholy as the rock of a lump in my throat

Toe the edge and choke on halos
there is a point at which light begins to burn

Scott Thomas Outlar is a lover of truth and enjoys researching philosophy, psychology, politics, spirituality, and any other facet of consciousness in the pursuit of reaching a higher state of vibration. He also enjoys writing rants, poems, essays, short stories, and prose-fusion screeds covering such subjects. Scott Thomas can be reached at 17numa@gmail.com. You can also watch and/or subscribe to his YouTube Channel Read other articles by Scott Thomas, or visit Scott Thomas's website.