Subtle Unrest

The quake of what was misunderstood,
Aftershook in the nooks in which it settled
With the permanent carvings of sharp metal
On soft fragrant wood.
These clocks go round,
The story's retold.
And crashes with the dishes
And splashes ice cold.

Inhale quick and pause stiff,
Eyes wide ajar.
Names, dates and places turn into scar tissue.
They are issued unorderly on our porcelain story
In faint and dark cracks in its beauty and glory
That is not coming back.
They drowned in clay oceans;
Unevenly stacked.

I'm burnt on the beacon that guides our ship
While watching your name by a tiny blip.
Your Morse is coarse and of course you know.
You failed your own course to lecture in show.
Never a care to walk on your tips
And I'm carefully aware of our public quips.

So okay, to my dismay, with a quick moving on.
Excitement in your eyes,
Pride in your stride,
Unsettled by the meddling
In the back of your mind.
And rather, you are flattered
And your swagger, still strong.
There are cards I could play,
But I let you go on.

Instead,
I built a house
Called Home,
But felt,
In only me,
In my mind's nest,
Though lonely,
At very best.
I'm falling,
I'm falling!
But doing my best.