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260 · May 2017
Stop and Listen
Gage Klein May 2017
Gasping for air
All I receive are thousands of particulates of sweat
Exiting my body through deep pores
Opening like potholes
In the road to my dreams.

Then
With nothing but the force of my own sheer will
I drag the thin
Searing
Beads of pain
Fear, and loss
Deep into my lungs…

Is this not the determination
The commitment, you’ve been looking for?

If not
Then that for which you look
Truly does not exist.

You call this a phase
A stage
You say “Gage, I know you”
You tell me that next week
It’ll be something new
That if I don’t follow through
That if I can’t STICK to one thing
I’ll always be shifty
That you have no faith in me


Truth is
Next week you could find me here,
But you wouldn’t know
Because you’ve never bothered to hear me
Because to you
My voice is nothing more than elevator music.
My voice is nothing more to you
Than the tick of a clock
The buzz of a fly

You have no choice but to listen to it---
But
It stops… Eventually.

LISTEN TO ME

This is yet another
Unperceived misconception
Of your invention
Leading you in the wrong direction---
Traced back to a lack of attention
From when I would go against convention
Trapping us in this contention---

I
NEVER
STOP.

Truth is
I am different
THIS IS NOT A PHASE.

This is a symphony
Of beautiful rage
Breaking the cage
Of my destiny
But you still
HAVE---NO---FAITH---IN---ME

Oh how you perplex me
With your dry mouth
Cracked, and swollen
From scolding
You have no faith in me-

Unable to taste the sweet
Golden juice
Dripping from the fruits
Of my labor…
You have no faith...

But if you just stop and listen
Turn around and see

The click of a key
Your son’s typing stories

The throw of a ball
These normal sports bore me

I’m walking a path
You can’t walk it for me

It’s not that I’m carefree
Rather
You fail to see
That commitment for which you look
Is inside of me
This poem is an emotional response to the lack of mortal support my mother has shown me over the years. I love her to death, but sometimes the judgement of a parent is clouded by what they think is right.
250 · May 2017
The Yard
Gage Klein May 2017
My legs itch
The wind blows
It is sweet
With the smell of palm tree
And grass.

A bird sings in a nearby tree
But I know its song
Is not for me;

I will use these words
To paint a pleasant picture,
One with golden rays of sunlight
Cast upon rippling water,
In the most tranquil yard.

The sun fades,
The shade grows,
How I wish the fist would stay,
And the second would go;

Pulled back by the wind,
Stroked     cut
Here I am---
At peace
249 · May 2017
Rain
Gage Klein May 2017
A thundering castrophony
splits the world in two
and drowns my worries.

Pitter patter     pitter patter

That which was once dry
now ripples
under the wet weight
of the fallen sky.

It hastens
it slows
it comes and goes;

Teardrops melt the earth

Pitter patter     pitter patter

One drop echoes another
they are in perfect unity.

And as they
after their journey of a thousand feet
finally connect with the warm, damp earth
they break,

Shattered
into a symphony of liquid glass
they bounce and roll
through the grass.

Over mountains
over seas
and finally;
into you
and into me
While in Florida visiting my grandfather, I missed those I'd left at home and wished they could have been there with me. I was sitting next to the pool in the back yard when it started to rain. It was a warm, and sad rain. That is when I wrote this poem.

— The End —