Time

In more ways than one.
Some lives cut short.
And so many more
minutes rendered cold.

I haven't seen people I love
for longer than I really know.
Maybe I'm afraid to put a number
on the days squandered.

Could you weigh the hours?
At this point surely you could.
There are too many to not feel
the weight of them crashing down.

How do we justify what it cost
when disaster befell so many anyway?
A mask worn/a life saved.
Sure, of course, gladly.

Fear

What did it take, really?
For so long we sat
in front of a mirror with nothing to do;
did we notice anything?

Did we come out of the tunnel
the same as when we entered?
Do we even posses the capability
to know who we were?

Which would be more horrifying
in retrospect.
To know our past self's death?
Or to see not even catastrophe changed you?

If I ever see
those in my heart's eye again
will I be able to spend the time
in a way deserving of theirs?

Will I show the wait was worth it?
Will I recognize them and them me?
Do you gain anything from knowing the question
and not the answer?

Is there any way to make it back.
Is there any way to even slightly reclaim.
Is there hope?
Is there hope...?

I am blind folded.
Walking down a path I have never seen.

Each step reassured by
the voices that tell me the road is clear.

No pitfalls, no obstacles
no trespasses, no traps.

And so, convinced by these noises,
stirring in my head

I continue to step
ever forward into the black.

are you okay? is a question
whose answer is not dictated by me.

The answer is always
at this exact moment it would seem so.

For this instant, ever fleeting
solid ground appears to be where I stand.

The infinite amount of time
in between those instants

are another story
that I am unable to tell.

Fight your demons.

Thrash
Slash
Raze and burn.

Salt the earth.
Foul the water.
Set the fields ablaze.
Cave the roads and bridges.

Give no quarter,
show no mercy.
This is not an adversary of ration.
This is not a passing wind.

Destroy what feeds them.
Lay traps in the shelters.
Let the last strain perish
as they beg for shade from the sun.

They call for blood
so answer with their own.
Their teeth rasp at bone
so dull them with iron will.

You will not be silenced.
Deafen them with the weight
of your words like the cosmos
pressing on an insect not worth your time.

Their claws will hack
at your shins to loose your footing.
But they have cut one too many times
to be allowed tolerance from your momentum.

Wind you carry behind you
will strip their eyes from their sockets.
You have stepped forward too many times
for them to stop you now.

Every sun risen and set
is another shadow banished.
The numbers continue to swing
in your favor as they fall.

So fell them like poisoned forests.
Ashes rise to the sky.
Speckles piercing the nightly veil
that count your glory.

The whole 9 yards are a million.
The crest of the hill is high.
The last leg is long.
But it is not beyond you.


Fight
         Fight
                  Fight

It's not sadness
or hate,
resentment,
or regret.

It's empty;
closing your
hand around
something gone.

Empty doesn't
have a remedy;
everything falls
but doesn't land.

A migrane
whose temples
you can even
rub in futility.

Pain in phantom,
sourced from
a limb severed
out of foolishness.

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Like water you beat
and you crashed
hoping to hollow me
and that I'd finally relent.

You wanted a cave.
Empty for you to fill,
although still holding
some structure to protect.

But you did not seem
to understand at all.
Or at least
you failed to notice.

My walls collapsed too
down down, and crumble
instead of a shelter
you only got sand.

But sand, sand is a beach
and a beach is not so bad.
You come and wash upon me
still influenced me like you meant.

However again you did not notice,
or at least did not seem to care.
Even sand wears thin
even sand grows tired.

You bashed and battered
hoping I would see.
But now everything is
under your sight line.

You would not hear
your own ferocity
and you could not hear
me over the roar of waves.

And so we are quite now
all my bonds shattered
and nothing left
for you to crash against.

There's something about wearing your PJs out to see the same eyes
that the night before saw orchestrated looks.
Tussled messes are shared upon our heads.
You braid the strands a few times and I try to make my hand a sufficient comb.

Coffee sipped on lips still tasting
of ***** and rolls of tobacco.
Sun drank on sleepy eyes.
Drizzle consumed on skin still smokey from the fire.

All the same, from cuffed sleeves and cologne.
All the same, from winged eyes and that skirt you wear so well.
The smiles, laughs, and embraces.
The sighs, support, and reassurings ring the same.

There's something about how we look.
How we look at each other the morning after,
That speaks louder than the shots and lyrics
we mouth so enthusiastically.

We stepped out of that skin
but we are still met
"There you are!"
and never "Where did 'that' you go?"