My speech, once proud and confident
Has now fallen to glass shards on blackened concrete.
My eyes, once sure and smooth
Are now like a defective camera with a defiant lens.
My fingers feel like they could stand on their own and march out of their sockets like a parade.
Not a day goes by now
That I refrain from twitching to cope with feeling overwhelmed.
My soul is cracking.
Sitting still inside of a cavernous house
As the dust tickles the nose of a whitened mouse
The windows need cleaning, my bed sheets a washing
’Tis a pity I’m filthy, too.
Vibratos of floor creaks ache their pains
Throughout the haze of the summer rains
And the creased paper that lies precariously on my desk
Trembles like the madman who set it there.
Shadows float like bubbles off the ground
And rumble collectively and make soft sound
Their silhouettes quiver; their souls give and shiver
As they mix and discombobulate the atmosphere.
And now, the sounds appear once more
Could it be that someone is at the door?
I dare not move nor attempt to exist
Inside my impenetrable defense of this.
Now, I feel my volcanoes beginning to erupt
As the foggy silence is suddenly made to disrupt
For a thousand voices and more are born
And create lives of their very own.
Hands that belong to exact-looking men
Demolish the foundation of my once safe den
However, when the dust settles, I look to myself
And realize that it was once again me.
Fiery gifts are bestowed upon a dimly sanded cave
The echoes of light fall swiftly upon the stalagmites
Shadows overcome the angel who dared venture
Inside the etching described aside the ocean of forever mystery.
a ne edle
The feeling you get
When you're not sure what else is left to feel.
A tropical autumn wind swiftly blew by
As the dust in the air cruelly bombarded our eyes
And we sat right here as nobody else was near
To leave it all behind; it is excruciating to try.
I never know exactly what it is I want
While the sun sets me ablaze
And people walk by with their faceless masks
As I sit here in my bed cosmos and daze
Birds sing as my penniless thoughts ache and ring
Forgetting for me was always a difficult thing
As memories flap their way through my blue brain
And how many other times have I written about the rain?!
Because as long as the bench sits here
So will I.
I will sit here patiently
Waiting for someone else to join me.
She was a head-turner, that one.
She wore tight-fitting clothes that
Complimented her like a love letter
And her walk could make
Any sensible dude talk
I'll never forget when we first talked
And how although I only liked her physically
She presented herself as innocently decent
Even after showing me a picture in her underwear.
And I felt badly
Because even as I write this poem
She might someday find this and know it was for her
But if she does
Her knee-high black boots can walk proudly across these words.