It was never the dark that scared me.
Even though the floor would speak
Wood floor creaking
Would the floor ever respond?
It didn’t.
But,
It was never the dark that scared me.
Even though the house is from the Civil War
The doctor’s house
Where people died
Where people did die
Where people would die
They kept talking.
Would they ever respond?
They didn’t.
But,
It was never the dark that scared me.
Because in this house of "hello"
"Hello"
"Hell
O"
They were part of the dark.
The dark where we all return
Will we respond?
We won’t.
But,
It’s not the dark that will scare me.
Because the lights are on right now.
Sep 18, 2022
Sep 18, 2022 at 11:54 AM UTC
LOVE
If not a mystery
How did I ever think to know
LOVE
Broken definitions
Purified ambitions of
LOVE
Eyes tired
For you my
LOVE
Heart restless
For you my
soul touches,
word brushes,
the last glimpse of sun before dawn
May 28, 2021
May 28, 2021 at 11:12 PM UTC
I got a guitar last week
It feels like someone is (cutting my fingers) open
I like this alternative
The strings fit (the grooves I've made) in my fingers
(Like my nails fit my arm
And my fists fit my leg)
I'm making you hear my red spots
(You never read my words
Or spotted my signs)
My actions speak louder than words
So why don't you listen
(Because this time when my fingers scream
You can't say I'm doing it wrong)
May 28, 2021
May 28, 2021 at 11:02 PM UTC
I heard so many birds last week
It snowed the other day
I can't hear the birds anymore
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 10:18 AM UTC
After the "ugly" duckling
The swan prevailed
Behind its mask of ascendancy
But what of the ducks
Left to wander and squander tradition
What of the crows
Ugly before, uglier now
Painted feathers to please and appease
In whose eyes on fallen knees
I, a crow, gaze into the mirrored floor
The swans look down
I look further
You, a crow, gaze into the windowed floor
The swans look through
You look at me
Pulled through squawks and screeches
Shown a sight of my own
Where Birds fly with given wings
Not pecking with stolen beaks
If only
If only
That glass was a door
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 10:41 PM UTC
A coastal drifter wandering the lonely shores
Where golden grain meets delicate foam
Where Land's mouth opens to painted crimson
They know not of the mountains beyond
Yet reminisce of those unseen giants
A hillside settler tending to rocky terrain
Where eyes can't pierce the blankets of earth and cloud
Where the sky seems not above, but consuming around
They know not of distant Sea
Yet contemplate the vast expanses of royal waves
Tiresome is overstated beauty
So both cut their roots
To seek what they do not know
To endure the pains that called
They meet on a bridge
Halted by the sight of another astray
Only to find themselves where they started
The ocean rose to a stretch of landscape and sky
And the hills sunk to bellowing floods
We never truly meet
We merely remember
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 7:17 PM UTC
A sparrow perched on a twisted branch
Eyes reaching into the desolate beyond
Wings aflutter
Persisting through the mist of fallen wings
The sparrow has seen death many times
They have learned to turn away
Passing by
Passings by
But what the sparrow has not witnessed
Is the passing of its kind
A branch of the self they had not perched on
When the sparrow sees the mourning of morning
They rest their wings
For the resting of another
Mar 11, 2021
Mar 11, 2021 at 9:46 AM UTC
As the midnight bell of insomnia chimes
Letting the stinging darkness pry the eyes
There are others who wish to wander
The earth asleep
The prophet sings of darkness
In darkness they preach of spirits
To spirits they call into the night
Waking those who wish to remain blind
The reader stains the eyes with words
Lamps leading the way for knowledge
Into the minds of the prudently poised
Prepared for the Earth's great burning
Or the extinguishing of its great fire
Then there is the poet
Reading the scenes of tangled dreams
Shouting them silently in hopes of acquiring
The attention of readers and illiterate alike
Hopeful of their message:
They all understand the world
The prophet speaks with power
The reader knows that power
And the poet
Destroys that power
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 7:06 PM UTC
I am the cutter
Carrying the blades to blaze a path
Sniping at the ends of what life gives me
I am never satisfied
I cut the food to fit my fight with life giving plight
Submitting
To the ones who can live to love scrap
Teach me how to care for unfinished crap
The cutter slashes branches like my gaze upon the earth
Why can't I see the beauty in daily destruction
Because it doesn't reach me
I have cut my reaches to you all
The cutter can not feel what their blade mauls
But can hear their feverish call
I promise to cut no more
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 8:20 AM UTC
We make a circle of memories
We pass away
What we have been given
Telling times of times gone by
What have we given?
Words of history
Have formed words of today
We will pass these words
To those who carry
To those who are carried
I’m sorry
For who my memories reach
I haven’t polished them
As my ancestors did
Yet I hope
You don’t begin to believe
That my unpolished piece
Of this moment we share
Is not one of thought
As I sit in our circle of memories
I watch the world give and take
What has been given
And what will be taken
For granted I grant myself
The honor to hear
Stories of those who need
To share more
To listen more
This is what will benefit
Us instead of deficit
To reconnect and reconvene
Our circle of memories
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 9:47 PM UTC