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A light 
At the end of the tunnel
Leads to salvation
Or so they say.

If only motion
Could be as easily halted
As it is begun.

The train
As she forges onward.
Whistle-blowing steam
Pressing blindly
Through the heat,
And the darkness

Behind her.
Before her. 

And what of our love?
Inferno's tinder.
Coals crafted in
Sublunary sentiment
Solid. 
As the product 
Of a century's pressure.
Of a century's decay.

Beneath her.
Within her.
Above her.

Our ignited passions ahead,
Distant and unattainable.
Joy and deliverance
As determined
Solely
By the absence of darkness.

Despite her.

If only motion
Could be as easily halted
As it is begun.

I'll choose never to believe
That it is salvation
Alight
At the end of the tunnel.
I feel sick.
The taste of cigarettes
In ash-colored air -

The two are non-sequential.

Cigarettes taste like home.
The good part of home.

The part of home
That silences my mother’s mouth;
Preventing the vices of its tongue
And the stresses that cause them.

Over generation.
Over generation.

You are your mother.

A compilation of love
Forced by proved masculinity
In your open cavities.

And my father said...
Well -
He didn’t.

Words failed him,
As he failed us.

Silence and cigarettes.

Over generation.
Over generation.
Rock star jacket -
You know the one.
Cowhide in thirteen shades of black.
The fur on an orange collar -
Memories in multi-colored stains.

Back in the "Stardust" days
It was all over your face,
Fame.
In thirteen letters and hues.

F was for father.
A runaway train from society's desires,
Given only your cowhide
And your Stardust make-up.
F was the battle

Cause and effect,
I suppose.
Life in the doghouse
Never fared well for the adolescent,
Though it always had the best in mind.

M was for myopic.
"Liberation!"
You screamed.
Echoing in the empty cells
Of like minded believers.
M was the enemy.

Vowels are but a collection
Of open-mouthed vibrations,
Stirring the vocal chords
With minimal importance.

Show me a meaning
That began with you.

Consonants give
That sound
Of importance
To everything.

Ziggy.
Rock Star.
Fame.
Adolescence is for love
Unconditional and perpetual.
Mother's arms and lullabies,
Father's kisses preceding goodbyes.

Thunderstorms
And closet monsters.
The safety of parents' pillows
Like home.

Love discovered and love new,
Daisies and playground sand,
Notes passed from one hand
To the next.

Little heart
That drums and stutters
To beat
I love you.

On starry rooftop nights,
With us cautious adolescent lovers.
Backseat romance,
And radio's tune.

The belief persists
That there is only now.
The past is still then.
The future is soon.
 Aug 2012 Sean Pope
Matthea Brown
Out
I have gone out, a cold candle.
Dancing, darting, flickering radiance,
flighty shadows fade back into the night,
but their memory is still on these walls
if you reach out and
touch them.  

I have felt the inhale before the exhale, but
neither as strongly as the pause in between.
Filled with more potential than any dream you’ve ever had,
yet somehow ending the same. Always.

I have surrendered to your breath;
darkness falls.

— The End —