There’s a king for every castle,
and a degenerate for every gutter,
but the world is filled with gutters and so few castles.
Man jumps at a passing star,
his own shot,
and falls through the sewers
much more often than catching it.
The history of human excellence is the story
of climbing out of the shit to build an empire
when everybody refused to pick you up.
Scars across an aging heart
never seem to heal
and the wind stings just
a little less
across my pricked face amid the
trees of white and brown and blonde.
Hair sits atop my head
a messy crown of brown and ash
and the memories weave their way
among the lockets and whiskers and strands
with every breath I take in.
A heavy heart is made heavier still
by the endless gravity and march of time.
Andy Veilleux 