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Jordan Harris Sep 2014
the omnipresence of a forest
a melody

the laughter of a child
a spirit

the rage of a star
a supernova

the ground of a glass
a mainstay

the warmth of a firefly
a comfort

the gore of a war
a fighter

the haven of a lionfish
a protector

the circlet of a nymph
a friend

the wish of a girl
a mask

to hide
the truth of an eye
a magnificence
Jordan Harris Sep 2014
I see her eyes
they are curious
and enormously round
like the heart of an water lily

the petals never close
they risk desolation
destruction by the tempest’s wrath
they have felt the frigid hail before
how they know its bitter sting
but they despise ignorance
for what is surviving safety
if beyond lays living hell?

if one flower blooms
the maelstrom becomes worth fighting
so they gladly withstand hurricanes
giving those thrown into this gale
a remedy
to bring the dying back to life

I see her eyes
they are dark
of burnt umber
like the ashes of the phoenix star

the dust of the dead
compressing and contorting
their carnage reaches distant worlds
as a glimmer amid the twilight
to them, this is worth the pain

I can see them rupture, crack, and fade
they burn
they rise from peace
to welcome the chaos of ignition

In looking at her
my surroundings blur to grey
the grey of colors so confused they mix to absolute equilibrium
and so I see only her eyes
but that is all I need
to perceive her
Jordan Harris Sep 2014
A photograph
pries a velvet kaleidoscope
from living

like flesh parting bone
ripped and torn
by the ravenous jaws of a great lioness

it snaps a fluid stream
with no beginning
no end

it chops to a point
which cannot flutter
because it has no wings

it is only an end
less than ephemeral
Jordan Harris Sep 2014
A grown child falls a young child flies,
a gray man huffs and rolls his eyes

a smiling nurse in all white sighs

a hand flings up to answer tries
a spoken comment was not wise
a star is given as a prize

envy consumes all the lies
a mother buckles down and cries,

some mental fuse is blown and fries
as masks are raised to form disguise

to mute the sound as laughter dies
Jordan Harris Sep 2014
I once thought big words
held more depth
than small ones.
Now I know they just cause
macro-cosmic misinterpretations.
Jordan Harris Aug 2014
It isn't sadness;
that is the biggest misconception.
People treat it like an emotion infecting a blue day,
labeling slightly soaked cheeks as this ailment of the mind.
The term is cracked like a whip in stinging insult:
weak, powerless, loser, outcast.

It is feeling a lack of feeling,
where one exists in a mental state of wanting to be anything but lethargic
yet finding nothing worthwhile inside
with which to take action:
no talent, no skill, no interest.

It is not only not believing one has any energy
but seeing nothing to which to give it,
in yourself, in others, in the world.

It is severe despondency and dejection,
consuming worlds like oozing, viscose magma
dribbling uncontrollably as burning ***** from the mountain's fiery mouth
burping filthily as is sludges onward.

It isn't sorrow, or misery, or despair.

It is inadequacy,
an ebb of interest in life,
with a sliver of interest to take it.
Jordan Harris Aug 2014
Telling someone not to be sad
because others have it worse
is like
telling someone not to be happy
because others have it better.
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