This smoke in my throat
The fire in my teeth
The wires of my bones
Slowly tugging at me

Withered webs of my eyes
Covet all that I see
The light from your skin
Meets the fall in my knees

The warmth of my breath
A glass guarantee
Tattered wind of my faith
Cast off with the sea

test me
my waters have remained constant
rippling, reaching
as far as the eye can see
into the horizon; the water surrounds me
my knowledge is useless
when drowning in these waters;
i can only flail desperately
as my movements create ripples
out into the open sea
all these efforts
all in vain
all in my vein
blood rushing out
like the sea, light then heavy
then strong
like the sea, with a strong smell of salt
this time, the waters are red
and they reek of iron

test my waters
they’ve been stained crimson
with my lifeline

Standing by the shallow waters I stare
Sun is shining but no shadow is visible
The other side has something unknow
But I feel too weak to sail my boat..

What I might find I am not aware
The first push I give is crucial
The Mast is broken,wind sail is torn
As I felt a spear down my throat..

Cross these waters before the thunders
But why am I afraid of them now?
Let the wind sail the ship home
Take me to the place unknown..

Random things at random times
Is a symptom. We have to adapt
Weak heart has an ego to be killed
Mosaic minds have to be willed...

We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.

moon faced
door mat cat

velvet tent ears
and stripes

faintly glowing
in the kitchen light

eyes track
my routine

paws tucked-under
quiet, waiting


Tom Spencer © 2018