astound

i cannot abide some
trembling throat guttering
glimpses of some things unknown
in opted ignorance rises chorus of a temple set to worship
airs of its salty breath reminiscing on some
old hypocrisy, or some obvious insecurity:
all things simple, sincere, and unsurprising,
almost upsetting in all
of its
unawares
and urgent uprisings.

but then i choke, a
sense of reaching out beyond my
place to hold,
in peaceful relation with my
spirit caste;
incapable of letting go.

perhaps it is so much our similarity
that tears us from our truest sense of
shared humanity as dearest friends,
but for some joy that never seems to see itself
in this sordid competition that will never cease to end