jgoodzie
…and then I entered second grade, where things really heated up. The FBI investigation had ended and the media attention was shifted to other, more pertinent things like the shortage of cabbage. Had I known then what I know now, I would have been a wealthy second grader with a napoleon complex and a franchise of successful nightclubs. But that’s a story for another day.
I might wait for the mail to arrive;
I might not wait for the first snowfall.
But then again, I might wait for the last word;
I might not wait, though, for the last train out.
It might seem fair to wait for the ice to melt;
However, I might not wait for the midnight bell.
But of course, you might wait for the credits to roll;
And you might not wait for the rain to stop.
Or perhaps you might wait for the encore;
Nevertheless, you might not wait for the lights to go out.
I thought you might wait for the tide to come in;
And you knew, if not for a moment, that I might not wait for the sun to set.
And of course, I might wait for you;
But I might not.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
Maybe I’d be drifting, slowly at first;
Approaching specks of light in the distance;
Once there, now here, free of space and not time;
Perhaps an error in the equations
Would have me lost in the empty darkness
Or free to run along amongst the light.
And you would stand alone in the Sun’s light,
Telling everyone that you were there first
And that you would stay until the darkness
To watch as I traveled in the distance.
Your hand guided mine through the equations
And reminded me to account for time.
You were wrong, of course, to tell me that time
Would stand idle until the morning light
Of my return, and those sad equations
Would stare back into my eyes, quiet first
But then screaming, filling the dead distance
And echoing through the void of darkness.
I hope when your eyes are filled with darkness
And you listen to the passing of time,
Or your hands reach through the empty distance
That you get up and walk outside; the light
You see from the stars passed by my eyes first.
Find peace in that, not from the equations.
I will obsess over these equations
Until my mind is filled by the darkness;
Insanity, if not from silence first
Then by the harrowed tick and tock of time…
Or maybe I’d stand in the fading light
And pay no mind to the growing distance.
So thus we wait and hope for the distance
To honor the truth of the equations.
Seconds pass slowly at the speed of light;
Leaving it behind leaves only darkness;
Perfect silence in the absence of time.
I question whether my heart will stop first.
Maybe I’ll forget the equations first.
Time grows slower, the distance grows larger.
But the darkness fades. Only light remains.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
I sat in a room with you.
Light
Would trickle down
From the ceiling like paint
And stain the floor white like clouds
Or you would stand with your face in shadow.
Maybe we need to share the air.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 10:15 PM UTC
Of withering tempests screaming to the break of sunlight,
Of unrelenting wind and pounding rain, she stands
With her back to crashing waves and painful bellowing,
A weak induction of steady sighs and silent contemplation
Would perhaps bring a peaceful conclusion to the rage
And reproach of a Goddess stirring on the fringes of insanity.
But never would it have taken to fresh insanity,
The gentle swirling of confusion between glaring eyes and sunlight,
How she would wish never to part from the burning of rage
And leave a scorched shadow on the very place she stands.
Never did she desire for the learned art of contemplation
But instead found solace in a frozen lake of tears and bellowing.
At the end of such a night filled with harsh anxiety and frenzied bellowing,
She finds herself staring into the gleaming eyes of Insanity,
Who dwells in sweet and blissful contemplation
And harvests the piteous glow of sunlight
Such that any man would freeze and cease where he stands
And succumb to the urgings of exhilarating rage.
A chilling gust would release the embracing rage
And perhaps bring wishful silence to the obnoxious bellowing;
She feels her feet sinking through the sand and stands
out of reach from the tearing claws of Insanity.
Relief in the warmth of ethereal sunlight
Proves a worthy companion of contemplation.
Eudaimonia, she finds in her deep contemplation
Free of sorrow, empty and weary from her onslaught of rage,
She casts herself into the welcoming cracks of sunlight
And in Euphoria, she finds herself no longer bellowing,
The slow and steady pull of her chains toward Insanity
Break away and leave her where she stands.
In new light, she finds her strength and stands,
Embracing the drifting stream of wraithlike contemplation
Would send shivers and open wounds that might invite Insanity,
But turning around and gazing out into those waves might blind the Rage
And bring peaceful sighs to interrupt the senseless bellowing
Such that black clouds would give way to glorious sunlight.
To the death of Rage and the estrangement of Insanity,
The wistful bellowing banished in the silence of contemplation,
The Goddess stands with her back to the wind, tears dried by the warm sunlight.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
I asked you if God saw a reflection
and you told me she was simply confused.
What more could be learned from two eyes alone?
I struggled with the thought before it died
and found the answer deep within your breath;
a subtle reach and clasp would stay empty.
I had questioned if your words were empty
as a ghost gazing at its reflection;
you stare at me as though with lack of breath
and pretend that I was always confused
by words that might as well have died
or just preferred to have been left alone.
And so I had spent many nights alone
with only my thoughts that would prove empty.
In longing for those eyes I could have died
or sought to find light in the reflection
of the sun on darkened craters, confused
but drawn back as though of gasping for breath.
I thought that I should wait to feel your breath
again, to avoid being so alone
would leave us out of reach or too confused
to extend our hands or feel for empty
air, I prayed to see your warm reflection
from a window before it withered and died.
I wished you’d take my soul before it died
or remained as it took its final breath;
and that thought returned in quiet reflection
from a place that must have been so alone,
like expecting treasure to be empty
or to discover you were just confused.
I thought that maybe I should stay confused
and in that same fashion I would have died,
in a room so void of light and empty.
I need to know the feeling of your breath,
even if it means I will stay alone
until God interprets my reflection.
It died with Patience, and ceased reflection.
Never alone, but harmonious breath.
Always confused, but never empty.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
Once upon a time I sought a structure
that decided not to be found.
Perhaps on a map I’d look
but Nothing
would stare back at me as if questioning its own darkness
and speaking as if submerged.
And so it remained as though of treasure submerged
within the withering structure
of a sunken ship in darkness,
praying to never be found.
Nothing
would do much to reserve a second look.
Yet every so often it would open its eye and look,
submerged
in Nothing,
building piece by piece its own little structure
to look
through the darkness.
And when complete, a light drowned the darkness
and gave away the slightest chance to look,
but to be found
in the vanishing darkness
would prove fatal to the structure
and so it died and returned to Nothing.
I had thought it would all be for nothing,
maybe a chance to wade through the darkness
would wither away the need for the structure.
I wondered if it would be of use to look,
even in those places so deep and submerged
where nothing would be found.
Or maybe all along it had been found
and the light had since destroyed the Nothing,
leaving it to wither away submerged
and drifting to the empty void of darkness.
With a feeling of peace to stop and look,
a gentle glint of light revealed the structure.
But what to do when the structure was found?
Was to hold it for a look worth nothing?
Should something of such darkness be submerged?
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
I remember those days on the seawall;
wondering if the waves would come and crash
over our heads, hoping to be swept out
by the vicious tide, but only to turn back
and drift ever slowly back to the path
that haunted as the black ominous storm.
But you always stared out into that storm
and at the last second the sad seawall
was to your back, and on the brave new path
you set out, standing to the rise and crash
of the waves. “Just don’t forget to come back”
I’d scream, knowing the storm washed my words out.
I always knew not to follow you out
to the shore. You and I both knew this storm
and that the only safety was left back
at the comforting height of the seawall,
but somehow you ignored the flash and crash
of lightning set to us on a clear path.
But what if I had followed in your path?
Perhaps if I decided to walk out
to that shore, and allowed the waves to crash
at my feet, that the dark and frightening storm
would ease, the dauntingly distant seawall
no longer beckoning me to turn back.
Yet somehow it seemed simpler to turn back,
maybe it would be fair to say my path
and yours were not the same, and the seawall
could not stop you from your adventure out.
When the drop fell, were you lost to the storm?
I wished I could protect you from the crash.
Or maybe there had never been a crash…
you always seemed to find a new way back
at the gentle conclusion of the storm.
I’d see you strolling up your normal path
and the waves from the shore would follow out
to rest peacefully along the seawall.
“Maybe in the next storm…” I’d follow that path
and I will not look back to the seawall,
but out to the black cloud and blinding crash.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
I often found myself in a life sinced passed
as though of smoke under a dark bridge.
I word in a shout or a whisper would float about
in shallow currents or deep below that stolid solid surface
of ice or concrete sent screaming in a simple step.
But to overwhelm such a life since passed
with the simplicity of a slamming door
or perhaps to view through a telescope;
those fine details from the vividity of a bedroom window
on a clear night would send shivers down my spine.
Had I stood idly by in a spellbound daze
as the light passed by with a swift spin and flourish
and faded to a pitch black before my eye,
perhaps then would I have understood
the importance of that touch before loss.
Or maybe had I sprinted silently
through the sauntering street
with my arms outstretched
to catch nothing but empty
air, it only seemed appropriate.
Only then would
I fall to the floor
and sleep it
all away, at least
for a short time.
But then
again, how
would I
have survived
the night?
Only
in
my
past
life.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
You sink your teeth in and never release.
A constant shock and AWE
you swim against the current always
keeping your head under water
forgetting to breath
and forgetting
who holds
you
down.
You are a glass bowl with the mentality of a diamond.
Embrace the air in motion,
hug the surface and meet your means to an…
Remember how it feels to be a shard
or part of an unfinished whole,
the light’s refraction pattern through an empty screen
or the statue carved into wood.
Remember who was there to glue the pieces back together,
because even though the hands were gentle
and the words kind,
the sound soothing,
a soft rhythm and
warm beat,
reminding
that
the tears
would blend
with the
rain,
that someone was there to pick the fragments
and endure the splinters.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
I knew from the moment I stared up,
feeling the emptiness under my feet
and the depths by which I’d plunge
that you’d extend a hand of thorns.
But of course, you may turn around and vanish
or hold it over your head and let it
drop,
a worthless shimmering and shattering
of such a thing turned black in absence.
I had hoped you’d take the chance to
turn away from the darkness;
take your eyes away from the ceiling
and let your feet return to the floor.
Spend a while in the cool silence
or let the cold water rest on your shoulders,
inhale without fear,
or fall into breathlessness.
Resist my inertia.
No, I didn’t know it would be impossible.
I only knew that when you held out your hand of thorns,
that you would endure.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC