we were late
the gathering had already begun
a solemn voice recited
among whitened walls
behind him were instruments
quiet like us
unfamiliar with house
he finished and we applauded
along with the faces
captured on canvas
and hung with nails
on the walls
The next voice was a woman
she spoke in verse
inside and beyond
reflected in the windows
and we were invited
to eat and drink upstairs
and faces surrounding us
voices and music
a strange lady
mostly to herself
telling more stories
for us to contemplate
until next time
The horrors fill
Of my shaking body
As I think about the future
And how I don't think
I'll be able to make it
Because one after another
Come to see me
One by one
Like an assembly line
Of my deepest
'Look everybody, look at his eye!'
I look, at his face,
his contrived, forlorn expression.
Yet the class sees only the bruising.
'We don't hurt each other like this,
do we?' She looks at me.
Fire clambers up my neck,
pricks my chin and
in the balls of my cheeks,
where it blazes.
The mouth-shaped bruise
on my arm tingles,
teeth marks still bloody.
I roll down my sleeve,
to be considered a grass.
Later, she wants to talk,
but I can't for crying.
And I hate when she tells me,
'Just don't do it again.'
Left broken hearted
for me to piece together...
Each little piece,
Handled with care.
Pressed in here,
Hooked on there.
But not beyond repair.
pure as gold.
for me to hold.
And I will
with your screws a bit loose
It's time to move on.
Somewhere in the fading echoes
as the daylight slows
my eyes will close
upon this scene
as if I'd never been at all.
On tombstones where names flake away
In year books from a yesterday
perhaps an image will remain
to stain your memory.
What price is it that we must pay?
What fee is due?
When you or I take that last look at the Summer sky
and fly off to one more blind fate
the final unknown unkind blind date
Who will wait to etch our passing in the book of time?
Who will catch the echoes that we leave behind?
And should I care?
I was never born,never lived,didn't die
I was not there
it was not me you saw
It was not me
It couldn't be.
How would I give up that which is given freely?
that which I should love so dearly
and so very nearly,
I begin to see
how it could be me
I could be there
could live and die with no one to care and at the fade out
would I still shout
It was not me?
These questions sent to try me
The fire that was me if it ever was me
is now the embers in the grate.
The cold hand of that unkind blind date
is reaching out to me.
It cannot see me shake
nor can it feel as my heart breaks and daylight flakes away
into the coldness of the final night.
It might have been me that you saw soaring free
or in the echoes of light smashing into the ground.
I'll let you know
but then one day,like me you'll have to go.
Just so you know
if you're looking
I'll be in the garden smelling of roses.
It's the same dull presentation every year.
Her friends all aware.
She stands out today,
but then again,
She is of the few who remembered,
the occasion that is.
Simple black dress.
Poppy ablaze on her heart.
She is quiet today.
The Marlboro-huffing voice,
crackles over the P.A.,
telling students to report to the cafetorium.
She rises out of her seat,
smoothes her dress,
and straightens her poppy.
She is first to hand in the annual
"I Will Remember..."
slip of paper.
Along with her older brother's name.
Not looking back as she leaves.
Everyone files into their seats,
their bland, identical, mauve-coloured seats;
fidgeting before they even sit.
The "populars" in front of her,
texting and tweeting life away.
She silently studies the band, bitter as can be.
All there for extra cred, or to get out of class.
"Delinquents reading sheet music"
Printed on white, crisp new paper,
only to be forgotten about,
or thrown out tomorrow.
The anthem is played,
she loses control.
Tears tearing a path down her face.
Nothing but a scratchy wool sleeve to help;
all the while,
not without a stiff upper lip.
And as soon as it started,
the entire thing is over,
and everyone files out of their seats.
While she and a friend quietly duck into a bathroom,
seeking refuge from the common calm.
Then quickly collects herself and walks back alone.
She enters class,
late with bloodshot eyes; daring anyone to speak.
Smeared makeup like warpaint.
Catching the eyes of her classmates,
as well as those of her teacher,
who now understands.
Though it's a silent knowing,
because nobody enjoys talking about,
the day of the assembly.
If I see the bottom, I see the top.
I speak loudest when I'm silent.
I sleep best when I'm awake.
I'm only flying when I'm on the ground.
I only get this way when there's a glimmer of hope.
I want a friend.
There's no denying
Eminem & Rihanna's Love the Way You Lie is better,
but PSY's Gangnam Style has 3 times more hits?
It's pure whimsy and makes you smile ~
ᏰέƦẙḽԃṏሁ's poetry does pretty much
the same thing.
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