i work late nights,
she comes into the store, scratching her eyebrows, searching for some item we may or may not have in stock
aisle by aisle
waiting for it to jump out at her.
so i went, and said
"Hey there, something i could help you find?"
she was just a customer, i was just doing my job
but the way those eyes met mine, i died.
on the inside
just a small amount,
but i could feel part of my frozen over heart
and hit the pit of my stomach.
she was looking for a string of holiday lights,
i knew just where they were.
i pictured her hanging them from the molding over her living room window.
standing on a step stool on her tip toes.
i don't know about the holidays
or muddling through a crawl space to find the last box of ornaments,
but i'd sure like to see those eyes on christmas tree.
i can hear it.
holiday love comes and goes
once she's rung up and out the door
the mistletoe's un hung
and my holiday spirits no more.
my sister thought my mother
had died on her lap.
she walked to the bathroom;
inside that depthless hospital hotel.
the putrid smell of life and death
all through-out this concrete heaven
at the tender age of forty-four;
my mothers bones would
carry no more weight.
her gentle heart,
her forgiving mind,
her words so strong
they are forced out
by constricted wind-pipes
and angry words
i glanced down at the cot, where my mommy died
making contact with my mother's pale-blue eyes
she looked at me with the most helpless,
childish face I've ever seen. as if to say:
"he isn't here.. where is he...
where could he be?"
she lived thirty more minutes.
he arrived a few hours later, asking:
"how's she doin'?"
never take for granted,
someone's borrowed time.
Could vous just take a second, a moment, one solid instant
to visualize the boy in the stall with more felt lacerations than words of admiration.
Could the bold, bright, beautiful ones start singing
because I'm sick of the loud talk that goes through the motions of lingering
in an echoed room as they "try" to save the oceans - tell me, did we
litter on the way there? There's a forgotten world in stories told of heroes, breathing clean air.
Could the world give one more shot (a mountainous event) because history needs valor.
But technology is further than requirements for bravehearts to trigger a gun. Envision
a man four foot high, who stands a flag where poppies lie because he was that lucky man
who watched his fellows die
I'll say, weaponry wields death to We, naught could prove me wrong.
Could the world be a little bit more tight; bring back the mystery of gentlemen.
We're too loose and on the edge of loss, and the cost - oh, the cost
is sentimentality that somehow became disconnected when
baring your soul and stripping bare became two
and when I meet the one, my mind is plagued that we shall only amount to half.
Could the world be about more than the new, the sophisticated
or have too many eye closed to the life before the Dodo's died; now only
one view: to screen the disease from the rescued swingers, sinkers and singers
ahhhhhhhhh! basking in captivity: to compensate, we take back by metabolizing habitats.
Could the world be about to - because me and mine are everywhere,
but mind: the brain's likely to reach revelation. Clap, we will excel. After all,
when the world explodes and we reconnect, I'm sure each will preach and teach and leech
until it's known - We'll thank Gutenberg as needed, but printer is no master
when the minds are intertwined. But P'haps it has been a bad morning because I've known you
and you've bled true - long been fixing those around, so they aren't torches who warn off monsters,
instead they shave down fangs of loathing, there's no - not one! - beast they burn.
And don't I wonder? Ah yes, I do wonder: that now
Could the world be about to turn?
To be so in love with life,
With you, and then the only You;
Love is to die,
Only to find rebirth,
In learning, I died for, Love,
My love, becomes immortalized,
And becomes the unwavering flame of remembrance,
Of the battles I fight, and fought,
And still I soldier on.
To die for your love,
Is the most majestic honourable death,
I could ever imagine and crave.
Our eyes are forever searching for something beautiful,
longing for its sudden appearance until we can wrap our arms around it and watch it suffocate.
Die in our tiresome grip.
Not by choice, no.
How many times have you been exposed to the night sky?
How many times have you looked up and admired its beauty?
How many poems have been written about it's moon, it's stars?
Constellations you've depicted with your best friend at age eleven.
You're 15, you're 19, you're 25. It's still there.
Unattainable as ever.
Beautiful. As. Ever.
People are not like that.
People are beautiful until you see through their soft skin,
and fall into the creases of their skin;
break through scar tissue
trip and fall through the cracks of their forced smiles.
People are beautiful until you can no longer face the tragedy of their lives,
can no longer deal with the burden of what you once would have died for.
No, definitely not.
People should not be disposable.
They are not the socks you toss away in disgust, after a long day of breaking a sweat.
They are not the gift wrap around your new Macbook Air,
torn and ripped to shreds until you finally get to the good part.
I know this, I do.
So do you.
But I cannot help myself.
You cannot help yourself.
Human nature is a cruelty of some sort.
If I believed in a Hell,
I would say that boredom is the Devil's advocate.
The rift between us is now a chasm
never again will I hold your hand
this was truly meant to be
one day I hope you're understand
All the blossoms I kept for you
all but one has wilted and died
the last bloom is a peace lily
of all your wicked lies
I want the flowers in my garden
to once again grow and be strong
never for you to behold
for my love for you has gone
My love now will be done privately
out of sight and maddening crowds
a sweet secret communion
this holy place, my love of flowers
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
It was on this day in Thirty one,
That our City got this present;
A Douglas fir, nearly 20 feet,
in Rockefeller Center.
Just simple workmen giving thanks-
Not a single one percenter!
There was just a hint of tinsel
and no lights upon that tree.
Tiffany did not mold Glass stars
for common folks to see.
On that Inauguration day
No speeches certainly.
The stand was simply two by fours
Formed in a simple cross
The Evergreen a symbol
of Everlasting life, of course.
A tiny hint of sacred
Those were dark days in our nation
with so many in distress.
Was it faith or Optimism
The workers were trying to express?
Perhaps they are one and the same
Just in a different dress.
Tonight we light a grander tree
And the mayor makes a speech.
These are days when a better life
seems just beyond our reach.
No longer called a Christmas tree,
Divorced now from that Faith
I feel like something precious died
And we’re left with just the Wraith.
It's been a few months
Maybe a few less than it feels
Since you ripped us; your head and our heart
The leaves have gone from green to vibrant purples, oranges
And other colours you couldn't see
Your funeral was nice, quiet, simple and not made a big deal
We didn't bury you naturally in the forest though
With a proud Oak above your head like you wanted
That made me mad, you won't live on like you should have
You were buried in an anonymous graveyard
Which held some importance to the people that knew you least
I visited your gravestone more than a few times
Everyone, the whole group and I have
It's a cold gravestone, more ornate that you would have wanted
That simply reads your name
Followed by January. 30 1996- August 17, 2012
The 2 words and 4 numbers that add up to 4063
Don't do justice, don't sum up your life quite right
At least in our eyes it doesn't...
I know you would have just wanted your name
Or nothing at all since they killed the forest you had in mind
"The tree will live on, I will rot and my body will be used
To create a forest, to create life"
Is what you always said
But you shouldn't be surprised by all I this like I am,
Like the group is
No one it appears, ever listened to your muted voice
Halloween came and people celebrated by wearing masks over their masks as you'd say
"The ghosts and ghouls and goblins
Are much better looking when people think
Their being clever and finally letting them down
Because it's Halloween and no ones paying attention because everyone's doing it"
It wasn't the same without you
Everyone came over but it was quiet and awkward
None of us covered our masks like everyone else
Rather, we all took them off for another night
Sitting around, talking, laughing and spraying blood on the walls
I decided I'd give myself a tattoo
To remind me of you and something you said a really long time ago;
Keep your feet grounded and so I did
An arrow pointing down on my ankle
Just as a reminder
I did it with a sewing needle in my room
While the group watched and provided expert commentary
They all wanted one but they didn't
I don't care if my parents find out
And I don't care if it gets infected
I did it for a reason and I'll stand by it
It'll kill my dreams of the military
You told me but I can't say I care anymore
My dreams died when you did
I know the violence of drugs and the silence which cracks open stones.
I've seen the bones of the solid and sold and those who have died before they got old.
Don't you tell me it's not true that the lure of drugs will not get you,it's a trap,another line on your rap sheet,another magistrate to stand and meet and another dark and one more nameless street,
that you'll walk on your own.
The world is Gray,
A slate wiped clean.
One day, I wandered
from pane to pane,
glancing out windows,
dreading Gray, the bête noire,
now it's come,
now it shall stay,
let me explain tomorrow's day.
A light erased the colors I knew;
came from dawn, swept on through,
break by break, it grew and grew,
morning fell, the horrors new,
my world of Gray appeared.
So now I wait for your return;
you took it all,
where've you been?
you took it all, all for your own,
and now I reap what's never sown.
The children sleep,
they do not know:
the things they seek
will never grow;
The children sleep,
they'll never see
what was a color means,
what it could be;
The children sleep,
they cannot know
how dawn has stolen what we know.
Drizzle, drizzle, rain outside,
you stole my heart and now you've died,
you stole the rain, yet now it pours,
I'm blocked by windows, hidden doors,
the day is darker, starker, gone,
the Gray has come, the game is on.
Flickering candles shall know no light,
the Gray-ness will take over night;
Ice will fall, winter's here,
Still, the Gray is crystal clear.
Cool, uncaring, blood seeps from the sky,
or maybe not,
Who knows, when all the world is Gray with fear?
The children sleep soundlessly,
forever marked in harmony.
The children sleep a dreadful sleep,
they will not wake,
Oh! the dreadful steps we take?
The children sleep a dying sleep,
the Gray has taken them.
The Gray has come, my dear,
are you now, too, drawing near?
Will you stay for one last dance?
Help me from this horrid trance.
Will you help me shake my fear
that only appears when Gray is near?
the children sleep,
the rain, it falls;
Shh! The Gray, it listens.
Time's up, I'm afraid,
the Gray is here,
so very near,
it scorches with it's burning sneer,
Tick tock, tick tock,
time's up, my dear.
And as you- can very well see,
the Gray has taken over me,
and there upon an evening clear,
at thirteen o'clock, the time that's feared,
the Blackness began drawing near.