Like Wood Looks

I feel like
wood looks
in the grasp
of 20 years of sun
and rain,

dead but full of character
and shades of grey.

Nailed flat
and obedient

to posts
snugged eternally in cement
sunk in a further embrace of earth.

I hold the cards in the house above me faithfully
but for how much longer?

All the righteousness we were born into
seems dirtied
if not outright
thrown in the gutter.

Truth, we never had it,
just existed like we did
in the absence of reality to set us straight
beautiful bliss are times like those, but never real.

Here comes the horrible bright light
sun over earth
always rising
despite any thrown stones.

Here it comes
here it comes sun over earth,
sun over all that befalls us
the day still has
a going on that is
always.

Back into order
I go.
Nailed flat
and obedient
but intact with my own grain.

My own fingerprints
and parasites
twisting the view a bit.

Twisting out a minor
different
new way
to look
around
where I can,
and share what I see
and how I record it.

Colored
by all the sun and rain
that taints my feelings
unique.

This sharing we all do,
this is what
makes all
new or different enough
to go on,
and not fall
tumbling
down.