Chris Thomas

Chris Thomas Apr 2017

If you bury me with my secrets
A diamond may finally sprout
From beyond the grave, in this self-centered age
These brittle bones will dig their way out

I started this lovesick revolution
By simply stumbling out the front door
But now terrors unspeakable
Are seeping beneath this rotting floor

If you bury me with my secrets
Only an earthquake will set it free
From beyond the grave, I'll still turn the page
Bleeding like notes from a symphony

I carried the fears of a thousand men
Walking the line between life and death
These nightmares unthinkable
Erase everything but my breath

Chris Thomas Mar 2017

Black Market

Family values,
Sold on the black market
Five dollars for a segue from the chorus
Of a baby's happy first words
To the tears caused by daddy's final vice

Compromise,
The loft where secrets sleep
Parrying words with shields of skin
Tethering dreams to a fencepost in the lawn
To keep them from the clouds in the distant sky

Life escapes,
Like the air from a balloon
It erodes like a weathered mountain
All the lights are on in a three-story house
But everyone's home and drowning

In the dark.

#broken #family

Chris Thomas Mar 2017

Cataclysm to a Silver Soul

Like a gentle breeze, the debonair smile passes by
Catching songbirds, and turning the world upside down
The maids are magnetized by the radiance
And the deference is deafening

How lofty a goal, to savor salivation from dry lips
Wringing hands, pacing along an avenue of softened hearts
Where the needle of the compass points
To fixed eyes watching a fractured dream

A blatant kiss, erupting from temporary insanity
Suddenly sour, and suddenly skewed by history
And as the vacancy dimly glows
Withered words spill from cotton mouths

A subsiding fever, starved by ghosts of the heart
Catching songbirds, but freeing the song stored far within
*What was a cataclysm to a silver soul
Is just a drop of morning dew to the world

This poem is about the constant ebb and flow of how we interact with each other, the way that giving becomes taking, the way that we retreat to our comforts, the reasons behind why we desire things we cannot possibly possess.

Chris Thomas Mar 2017

Black Feathers

I know this pain will last
Far beyond tomorrow's atmosphere
Because this paper-thin skin of mine
Keeps far more in than will ever escape

I want to hide beneath these grey skies
I want to hide beneath black feathers
Because this paper-thin skin of mine
Is just a wound away from breaking

I press my heart up against the glass
And shatter the world with a single heartbeat
Because this paper-thin skin of mine
Is just a puncture away from bleeding

I want to stand beneath these parapets
I want to stand beneath salvation
Because this paper-thin skin of mine
Is just a sunrise away from burning

Pull up a chair and dream next to me
Cover violet bruises from violent love
Because this paper-thin skin of ours
Is just a bruise away from yielding

#love #pain #brokenness

Chris Thomas Mar 2017

A Terrible Place

The mind is a terrible place to live
Full of musty air
Brittle furniture
And a screen door riddled with holes

Draped along the crown molding
Rest moldy memories
The shadows of mistakes
And chipped paint from tempests long ago

The bedroom is where she lies
But not everywhere that she lied
Empty as before
And empty as it will always be

The hallway where the walls collapsed
Where the claustrophobia sets in
Where echoes once rang
Where silence now has lease

The mind is a terrible place to live
Full of wasted years
Padlocked rooms
And a basement where the darkness sleeps

Chris Thomas Mar 2017

Stationary

I'd go anywhere with you
Anywhere that the sun sets
Anywhere that your mind forgets
Anywhere that my heart still skips

But the best laid plans
Lay stationary
Waiting for their chauffeur
Waiting for their moment to come undone

I would have taken flight with you
Taken you beyond the shimmers
Taken nothing for granted
Taken the glow to the ever-after

But the fairest of the unfair
Stays stationary
Carrying the burden of beauty
And waiting for the words to ricochet

Chris Thomas Mar 2017

Clumsiness (The Beauty of Words Tripping Over Deaf Ears)

The sound of a simple serenade
Echoes throughout ivory halls
For this garden of truth
He must water and tend to
Long after the seeds are sown

There's a pause for silence, and sanity
As dangerous youth endures
He reflects the moonlight
Upon silent faces in the shadows
Consorting with the darkest of allies

A moment locked within a frame
As clumsy as his very first step
The words come tumbling
And twisting, long before they find
The deaf ears they were intended for

The fuse has been ignited
Burning lost causes and lost effects
The transmissions are garbled
He signals for rescue once again
But the hollow has erased all he left behind