metes - Hello Poetry

Staggering through this suspension Time cannot be impatient in this What you wait for is The permission to continue to live MRI on Friday

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Jul 10, 2025

Jul 10, 2025 at 12:47 PM UTC

Friday

Staggering through this suspension Time cannot be impatient in this What you wait for is The permission to continue to live MRI on Friday

5

A city cries when it rains. Nature pushes it back inside itself. Left naked to truth we can only hide under the blankets of guilt and derision. For it we who have built this beast called city. On cold rainy nights I would ride the trains. Back then you could buy a day pass for two bucks, but some nights I didn’t have the money, so you just crossed your fingers that the fare inspectors wouldn’t catch you. I would ride for hours, watching people, and watching the movie that ran by outside the window. Humanity stretches on forever in the frame by frame awareness of how the earth has been conquered, reshaped, distorted into shapes that allow profits to become gods. But we who were left alone to wander through the heap piles of profit and gain, speak in the tongues reserved for starving souls. The only thing you can bleed out is a truth that is tethered to a truth that not even Plato could conjure up. But in the hollow of that emptiness we come to understand who are the fortunate, and who are the slaves. Spit bitter and smile at the face of nothingness. For we are the ones who are free….

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May 10, 2025

May 10, 2025 at 6:06 PM UTC

Slaves

A city cries when it rains. Nature pushes it back inside itself. Left naked to truth we can only hide under the blankets of guilt and derision. For it we who have built this beast called city. On cold rainy nights I would ride the trains. Back then you could buy a day pass for two bucks, but some nights I didn’t have the money, so you just crossed your fingers that the fare inspectors wouldn’t catch you. I would ride for hours, watching people, and watching the movie that ran by outside the window. Humanity stretches on forever in the frame by frame awareness of how the earth has been conquered, reshaped, distorted into shapes that allow profits to become gods. But we who were left alone to wander through the heap piles of profit and gain, speak in the tongues reserved for starving souls. The only thing you can bleed out is a truth that is tethered to a truth that not even Plato could conjure up. But in the hollow of that emptiness we come to understand who are the fortunate, and who are the slaves. Spit bitter and smile at the face of nothingness. For we are the ones who are free….

2

The nakedness of spring We were raw and ****** What the winter had drawn from us Went into hibernation Turning the soil was fresh It placed us back into The lineage of mother farmer Of both love and dying The scent of being human I always dreamed that she had dark hair And brown eyes Her dress would be of summer Standing at the end of the field Free of undergarments And bleeding into the earth We would lunch on grass salad I would crave her lips with every bite But dreams are blind

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Apr 18, 2025

Apr 18, 2025 at 12:17 AM UTC

Bleeding Dreams

The nakedness of spring We were raw and ****** What the winter had drawn from us Went into hibernation Turning the soil was fresh It placed us back into The lineage of mother farmer Of both love and dying The scent of being human I always dreamed that she had dark hair And brown eyes Her dress would be of summer Standing at the end of the field Free of undergarments And bleeding into the earth We would lunch on grass salad I would crave her lips with every bite But dreams are blind

18

She carries her heart like paper Creased in folds unseen and unread in paragraphs unwritten Her poem is scattered and misunderstood Words crawl back into words Desire pierces through the veils of her desires Tasting what is real seems a pointless walk Through what is and what is not Her truths are scribbled in the margins At night she Tucks them into the cracks of her soul She carries her heart like paper All the while knowing that It could burst into flames at any given moment Any given kiss, any given touch, any given word or any given glance She only pretends that life is not so fragile But she knows that the fragility is what binds us all together It is written there somewhere in the preamble That someone read aloud before she was born It is the subtext in all her poems She carries her heart like paper As she breathes heavy in white mist mornings The most alive as she can be It is silent as she walks through herself Peering through her heart She bleeds her water in the rain It washes through the fabric Of her beginning Leaving her soul fresh and unwritten Individuated from any god she could create She blends into the fog

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Apr 17, 2025

Apr 17, 2025 at 11:56 PM UTC

Paper Hearts

She carries her heart like paper Creased in folds unseen and unread in paragraphs unwritten Her poem is scattered and misunderstood Words crawl back into words Desire pierces through the veils of her desires Tasting what is real seems a pointless walk Through what is and what is not Her truths are scribbled in the margins At night she Tucks them into the cracks of her soul She carries her heart like paper All the while knowing that It could burst into flames at any given moment Any given kiss, any given touch, any given word or any given glance She only pretends that life is not so fragile But she knows that the fragility is what binds us all together It is written there somewhere in the preamble That someone read aloud before she was born It is the subtext in all her poems She carries her heart like paper As she breathes heavy in white mist mornings The most alive as she can be It is silent as she walks through herself Peering through her heart She bleeds her water in the rain It washes through the fabric Of her beginning Leaving her soul fresh and unwritten Individuated from any god she could create She blends into the fog

32

I trespass again, into that sanctum that harbors everything we are Yet we can’t know what we are So the rooms and hallways are only a softly lit maze Where tender and dreams and resolve and fear and breaths and sleep and pain All rest in undefined spaces I sit under a large tree, not knowing the species The park is quiet and the bench is cold A girl passes, strangely intent on her direction As if she is pushing forward as much as she is push something away behind her Her lips, a bright shade of red The way it reflects in her face Suggests She is always wearing that shade of lipstick She has always had bright red lips And what corridor led her to that constitution Where does she keep herself Do her rooms look anything like mine And how could we ever know On the phone last night L sounded lonely It was in the way she let her guard down between words Whether either or both of us wanted it to be over I knew we no longer knew We speak too often And fourteen years has its own constitution Its own balance sheet and its own life There is a room where the two of us will always exist Just as there is one for my father And my mother And that beggar child in Guatemala So many rooms I laid my phone on my chest after we finished talking And felt its weight hold down my breath I wanted to sink into the earth And disappear into the strata below Wishing I could crawl into spaces that exist in between A part of life I cannot live The girl with the red lips comes walking back Her pace is exactly the same Is she looking for that room that harbors her relief Her freedom, her future I am relieved that she has not noticed me “We” do not exist Nothing of us has been exchanged She is only a part of a poem A canvas that I can sketch out a view of a landscape That we crawl over Day after day So many rooms

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Apr 17, 2025

Apr 17, 2025 at 10:12 PM UTC

So Many Rooms

I trespass again, into that sanctum that harbors everything we are Yet we can’t know what we are So the rooms and hallways are only a softly lit maze Where tender and dreams and resolve and fear and breaths and sleep and pain All rest in undefined spaces I sit under a large tree, not knowing the species The park is quiet and the bench is cold A girl passes, strangely intent on her direction As if she is pushing forward as much as she is push something away behind her Her lips, a bright shade of red The way it reflects in her face Suggests She is always wearing that shade of lipstick She has always had bright red lips And what corridor led her to that constitution Where does she keep herself Do her rooms look anything like mine And how could we ever know On the phone last night L sounded lonely It was in the way she let her guard down between words Whether either or both of us wanted it to be over I knew we no longer knew We speak too often And fourteen years has its own constitution Its own balance sheet and its own life There is a room where the two of us will always exist Just as there is one for my father And my mother And that beggar child in Guatemala So many rooms I laid my phone on my chest after we finished talking And felt its weight hold down my breath I wanted to sink into the earth And disappear into the strata below Wishing I could crawl into spaces that exist in between A part of life I cannot live The girl with the red lips comes walking back Her pace is exactly the same Is she looking for that room that harbors her relief Her freedom, her future I am relieved that she has not noticed me “We” do not exist Nothing of us has been exchanged She is only a part of a poem A canvas that I can sketch out a view of a landscape That we crawl over Day after day So many rooms

48

This winter is waiting The old limb sways in a rhythm with the memories I wander through The storms I weathered within my heart Burn the calluses into fleshes forgotten The winds is whispering wisdoms With the breath of my soul We exhale what love could never have been This winter is waiting I would weep a song that brought flowers To all those I have loved The dust in my heart and the dust in my soul Lay in a repose…. the strata lines are made of the pains For all the things that slipped between the cracks in my heart Some winds drown out the songs that echo within But I suffice knowing that they are there….

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Apr 16, 2025

Apr 16, 2025 at 11:36 PM UTC

Winter is Waiting

This winter is waiting The old limb sways in a rhythm with the memories I wander through The storms I weathered within my heart Burn the calluses into fleshes forgotten The winds is whispering wisdoms With the breath of my soul We exhale what love could never have been This winter is waiting I would weep a song that brought flowers To all those I have loved The dust in my heart and the dust in my soul Lay in a repose…. the strata lines are made of the pains For all the things that slipped between the cracks in my heart Some winds drown out the songs that echo within But I suffice knowing that they are there….

16

He came there to **** him The setting sun made the scene tranquil Bathed in light unguarded We were festive… and simple The shots rang out The shots tore into his chest The shots tore through the village, through the hearts of all who knew him The shots tore away what we were The rain has washed away the blood But can the rain drown out his wife’s mournful cries Can the rain fall through us Can the rain wash away what we are now

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Apr 11, 2025

Apr 11, 2025 at 12:20 PM UTC

******

He came there to **** him The setting sun made the scene tranquil Bathed in light unguarded We were festive… and simple The shots rang out The shots tore into his chest The shots tore through the village, through the hearts of all who knew him The shots tore away what we were The rain has washed away the blood But can the rain drown out his wife’s mournful cries Can the rain fall through us Can the rain wash away what we are now

12

We are driven harshly Through the storms of our love The rains pierce the skin That covers our hearts The rains Wash away the blood of our dreams Those tattered edges bleed The regrets of passion and its fictions Are we that much alive What is laid before us To feel….to grasp The thorn ****** to bleed Scales falter When in nights we clutch ourselves In both disdain and in desire Which blamed which Self or fate Or the simple fool But blame need lay fallow We must compromise ourselves Letting those parts of our soul Know the flesh And the fire Until the rains come again

0

Apr 6, 2025

Apr 6, 2025 at 10:12 PM UTC

Storms

We are driven harshly Through the storms of our love The rains pierce the skin That covers our hearts The rains Wash away the blood of our dreams Those tattered edges bleed The regrets of passion and its fictions Are we that much alive What is laid before us To feel….to grasp The thorn ****** to bleed Scales falter When in nights we clutch ourselves In both disdain and in desire Which blamed which Self or fate Or the simple fool But blame need lay fallow We must compromise ourselves Letting those parts of our soul Know the flesh And the fire Until the rains come again

24

I fragment thee….less a cloud than the rain the portions we partition ourselves from remain un-sketched we are merely grasping the edges of an existence we struggle to know but in dreams the murals are painted vast and there we are whole I fragment thee….less a cloud than the rain

0

Mar 30, 2025

Mar 30, 2025 at 11:19 PM UTC

I Fragment Thee

I fragment thee….less a cloud than the rain the portions we partition ourselves from remain un-sketched we are merely grasping the edges of an existence we struggle to know but in dreams the murals are painted vast and there we are whole I fragment thee….less a cloud than the rain

9

Night runs through your veins Alone with the stars You cut a path into the heavy damp air And pull life towards you Brushing by silences That whisper truths into your soul Shadows become other worlds You dissolve into Pausing to breath in the night The smile in your heart Replenishes the desire to be alone You exhale another chapter of yourself Starlight shimmers on your skin You pierce the solitude of darkness And move ghostlike Deeper into yourself Heartbeats pound in your chest Leaving the used parts of you behind on the path Your footsteps become a rhythm To this song of being alive With the night

0

Mar 28, 2025

Mar 28, 2025 at 12:10 AM UTC

The Night

Night runs through your veins Alone with the stars You cut a path into the heavy damp air And pull life towards you Brushing by silences That whisper truths into your soul Shadows become other worlds You dissolve into Pausing to breath in the night The smile in your heart Replenishes the desire to be alone You exhale another chapter of yourself Starlight shimmers on your skin You pierce the solitude of darkness And move ghostlike Deeper into yourself Heartbeats pound in your chest Leaving the used parts of you behind on the path Your footsteps become a rhythm To this song of being alive With the night

21