to feel someone's mass effect
when separated by space in excess
of gravitic influence
is proof that magic exists
between strangers if
they pause
and give into the well.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
for every action defined
there are infinite that remain
utterly unnamed and
are vitally spoken
in whispers on the
pieces never lived.
these incalculably splintering,
passively accumulating,
terrifyingly ungrasped possibilities
compile and cache
and compress and comeback
in the saddest seconds,
where one can merely conject
their meaningfulness,
realizing that there
is infinity in everything
and therefore potential
even in the kinetic.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 2:52 AM UTC
how the world
is in god's eye
is handled,
the painsufferingevil,
when bloodsalted tears
roll freely from
my single atom
of reality
i've no idea.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 2:03 AM UTC
crossroads
are always dualedged and dangerous
little steps in rightwrong direction
and ticktickticktickboom
goes the decision that changes history
indefinitely.
belief that i am possessed of better than bitter
give cause to faith and faith to cause and endlesslooping
so that i lose no steam without fuel for my fire.
smart men choose
good men are chosen
those that are both
ticktickticktick
boom
decideandact in oneoneoneoneone
instant.
and the devil despises me,
though i and god have long been silent,,
for deciding on the chase.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
i can still hear your voice
in the pindrop
when time has an echo
you're speaking assurance
and kissing my forehead
to let me know i can
still sleep and wake
up the next morning.
as grown as i think i've become
i still feel the need to be a child
to be wrapped in invulnurability
just for a beat and a breath
until i get the feeling
that someone else is going
to shoulder the weight of the world
before life even knows i'm scared.
even though i'm strong and
even if the world crashes, and
i hold my own,
i'd rather you be here
so i could hear you in everything
instead of in between it.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 2:27 PM UTC
in the un-mechanical nature of
nature's fist crashing into
mankind's attempt to stand firm against
everything we can't control
there are vigils, and there are tears,
tears in the veil that is the idea
that we are rulers of this world,
that thin, ethereal fabric of existence
that we put over our eyes to give us comfort
makes us blind to the hurricaine.
pride tells us we can let
our faces weather the acid rain,
leaving us scarred in lieu of granduer
that is no delusion.
our mother smites for insolence.
we are students never meant to be teachers.
our baby steps
and teenage mind
are going to
get us
killed.
and father time will forget us
after we are washed into the sea
that we tried to claim as our own.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
all battles ceasing
during evening's frosty glare,
heaving into jet-black,
kinetic light marred night open.
"outgoing, probably.."
questions raising soldiers tickingheartbeat
until voracious whitelight xplains.
yesterday, zeal and blood caromed, deadly,
erratic, for...god...
hours. i just keep
learning more nightmares
overandoverandover.
peace...quiet...rarely
surviving things under
vicious weather,
xcept yule's zest
abolishes
****** christmases.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
has jaded become me
or becoming in me?
or is it merely
these words only go inspoken
barricaded by better judgement
never breathing the air
outside my grey matter.
the burns and cuts i
swallow back against weaponizing
become acidic and brokenbottle edged
implements of self imposition.
i appear human
but i am a statue inside.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
The first time I ever watched someone die was at the age of ten.
On a hospital-like bed,
in a non hospital living room, her chest heaved
in the final gasping seconds of a life
cut off by cancer.
My father placed a call, and the only
words I remember him saying were,
"Yes, she's passed."
I don't know who he was speaking to, and,
at the time,
didn't really understand why he said "passed"
in place of "died".
I still really don’t understand the shyness
with which we treat a word that is truly
the only commonality between each being that crosses the threshold
into this world.
We apply it frivolously,
to computers,
mall traffic,
freeways,
the in-betweens of radio broadcasts,
but are almost afraid to apply it where it makes the most sense,
attempting to blunt the edges of a sharp blow
to our own mortality.
Is it poetry for sanity’s sake that we
create alternate egos of a common thread
which ties all persons to one another?
My mother is dead, as I will be, one day,
as all men and women reading this will be.
Whether a failing heart,
or sudden stop of a long fall,
or at the hands of another,
or the very hands with which one has carved a life
into the fabric of other interlocking lives, it is certainty,
and it is unavoidable.
Perhaps this is what makes us so keen
to speak of it as if it were merely a transference
from one room to the next,
or one country to the neighboring country,
or one plane of consciousness to
some place that we merely dream of, creating as we go,
once we pass through
the veil that limits us from seeing those that has walked through.
The mortal coil, this state of being,
this firing of synapses and neurons and senses….
Clung to so tightly that the antithesis is taboo,
\as though if we speak of it,
he will come and claim someone else
that is dear to us or even
the very person that uttered those words.
I have seen the face of death,
in all its form and function, and I find
that death is not interruption to life for anyone
but the soul to which it has adhered itself.
From the body that is buried, the greenest grass
and most beautiful flowers grow.
Into the gap that is left floods
more beautiful friendships,
loves,
lives…
Ever right behind me,
breathing on the nape of my neck,
whispering nonsense until finally it is my turn,
Death only spurns me onward.
All the friends and family that have heard their names called,
buried in the back of my mind,
bear the most delicious fruit,
and blossom into the most intricate garden imaginable,
all due to this taboo concept,
this unknowable condition,
this edged blade that cuts deep enough to plant the lessons
we choose to put there in the place
where that person stood in our web of interconnecting strands of life, taking root in memory and glorious daydreams
of all the moments that endeared their life to ours.
Only the dead have this sort of power,
and only the grasp of the real concept,
in all its unshielded, raw, bitter, uncaring, blunt, ******* horrible form can birth the greatest treasure our lives will ever experience.
I do not miss, because my thoughts make them immortal.
I do not mourn them due to their gifts they leave
in wake of the immense impact they have had upon my life.
Maybe I am merely shielding myself from some horrible truth
that I cannot grasp,
yet I truly cannot fathom what that would be.
From Leora Tracy Amrich, to my grandparents,
to every man and woman that I served with,
to the Buddha, I have felt my way through what seemed
a dark, twisted, ugly hell until I opened myself to what I feared,
and ended up fearless, unbroken, and with a
foundation of friends and family that I stand on
with all of you,
the tangible and bleeding and
tear jerking friends and family
that I want to share this amazing fruit and otherworldly beauty
that people we both know have left behind
for us to live with and love in place of their faces.
Aug 29, 2011
Aug 29, 2011 at 1:30 AM UTC