Category: tuesday

There are only moments,

Quickly passing, so fleeting;

Sometimes it’s as if those moments

Aren’t even real,

But rather half-formed memories

From a deluded dread,

Bound and broken to repeat,

Until his life ended.

For him, in many ways,

That sorry, pathetic excuse

Called life was driven

Into the ground years ago,

The nails driven into the coffin,

The dirt burying him deep.

To know love but not hold it,

To see glimpses of a fantasy,

Because he knew she could

Never be his,

Kept life’s fragile thread

Tethered to what?

Hope?

That was the greatest folly.

He might just pluck the stars

From the night sky,

Name them his own,

Or count the multitude of sand

Lining every damn shore,

Waves pounding, drowning him.

“No,” goes the mantra,

“You will never be happy.

You are one for the fiery depths.”

Even though he is so cold,

Wonders at this fire, this brimstone,

A flash of green comes from above.

Sometimes, oftentimes, he has come

To relate that color to death.

This time, no, it is life.

It is hope.

The truth is given

As life bleeds out

And he gasps for sharp breath,

Every inhalation like a stab

To the chest.

The familiarity of that green deepens,

Then brightens.

Just as he ought to know no more,

He knows everything:

He knows love, hope,

Sees them in her green eyes,

Meant for one such as him.

02.16.10

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Oh, joyous spring!
What beauties you behold!
Pitter-patter and birds sing,
Speak of the mysteries untold.
A bulb in the frozen ground
All the winter long
Bursts forth in glorious sound,
Rebirth and renewal its song.
A miracle to witness
Comes ’round every year,
Leaving us to merely guess
How something so precious and dear
Has the power to transform
Darkness into light
And break forth in thunderstorm
With all its might.
Like flowers in the sun,
Our faces alight in smile.
Another spring has won
Over winter for a while.

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Edges tainted

Of visions long ago painted,

Corners torn

Since have sworn

Should have let release

The desire to live; just rest in peace.

Soft pencil marks erased,

Only to be replaced

By jagged etching of lines

Sprawled all over, left unrefined.

Severed shards of wood

Litter the ground, misunderstood.

Glass shattered,

Blood splattered,

All that remains

Are broken refrains

Of a song left unsung

And a life undone.

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As tears burned my cheeks

And collected on your face,

I stared at your blurry visage

And smiled inwardly,

Never able to recall a time

When you were more beautiful.

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She speaks in a thousand tongues

Of other worlds,

Of dreams bigger than life.

Her philosophies slant with purpose

To project her audience away

And more toward her reflection

In murky waters, never black nor white,

Leaving them to drown in their own tears.

They realize just before

The last ragged breath

That time has been poorly spent

In her presence.

No path goes back to the beginning.

She doesn’t delight

Seeing their pitiful forms drown.

But sorrow, she knows it well.

She drowns herself in tears,

Chokes on poisonous words,

Swallows her pride,

Forced to accept life for the bitch it is.

This bitch doesn’t deal cards fairly.

The hand she played

Has long been severed.

What does the outcome of the game matter?

Fear drives her motives.

With fear, there is no winner.

Her foes, her friends, and she,

All are alike–

Pieces left shattered,

Thrown aside into puddles of nothingness,

Stepped on, crushed,

The remains left to be washed away

By relentless rain–

Rain that cleanses life anew.

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You want to see the real me?

Close your eyes

And open your heart.

Stop expecting what you thought was true.

Do you know what that is or was?

When you find out,

Let me know.

Do me the favor of shutting your mouth.

Words, words, and more words,

They don’t mean a thing.

Utterances and vibrations the mouth creates

Pass into thin air and die,

But what the heart speaks remains forever,

Though often hidden, embedded in silence.

You ask me (in words again)

How to know what’s inside me,

But I stare at you,

Shake my head.

Were you ever really listening?

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Expectations,

But not exceptions,

This is how I ought to be.

Maybe in your eyes,

To some other person,

Maybe a great goddess,

Maybe a prissy princess,

Perhaps even a porcelain doll,

Flawless, untouchable,

Beautiful, pristine,

Never stepping in the mud,

Falling, twisting my ankle,

Breaking my face in two.

But see, I already have fallen

And cursed my weak ankles.

My face is scarred,

And my eyes see clearly

I’m in the mud.

You don’t really see me.

You don’t know who I am.

Maybe I was never even there to you.

I’ll stand, walk away from this incident,

Which incidentally, never happened in your eyes.

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