inquisition

Where do I hide?  I build this tree,
the branches tangled over me,
I ask myself:  how will I know
what voids this curse?  what sets me free?

I sit and sit. The hours grow.
The birds have wings—they come and go.
My rhythm cannot hold their song.
How can I breathe?  What cries the crow?

My body emptying skin to bone,
my mind hardening into stone,
falling like silence to the ground–
How do I bide?  I lie alone.

The sea and sky cannot be found.
Memories circle round and round,
searching for possibility–
How am I held?  Where am I bound?

Frank at dVerse has asked us to consider blame and forgiveness.  And a final rubaiyat for the month of February, with short lines this time.

 The hardest person to forgive is often yourself.