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FireLightPoems
~ He knew in his heart there was nowhere to go.                          He knew with his eyes there was nothing to know.                          He knew with his hands there was nobody there                          He knew from his lies there was no one to spare.                          He listened but didn't hear                          He saw but didn't look                          There was nothing for him                          Naught in the air                          not a thought, not a limb                          that he could feel                          that he could conjure                          He was desperately calm                          and there was nothing to listen                          It might be a city                          it might be a glade                          It might be a person                          it might be a blade                          It was the same, the same                          the same without saying                          Without anything.                          it was all the same                          He had himself                          and himself was fraying                          he wasn't swimming                          they weren't moving                          he was unseeing                          they saw the bench                          A bench?                          No, he was sure                          absurdly unsure of nothing                          Why was he trying?                          He wasn't trying.                          He could feel his limbs                          but they didn't belong to him                          Is this it?                          The bench                          It's always the same                          Yes, he thought,                          it is the same                          The bench                  Nothing ceasing didn't matter                  Hands and lips, fluttering                  fluttering on, eyes staring on                  There was nobody, nowhere                          The bench.                  Nothing.               What did he know?            What did his hands hide?        The moving statues, were they the same?                          The bench!    No-                          The bench! Wait!--
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Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 2:11 PM UTC
Deathly Cold in the Streets
~ He knew in his heart there was nowhere to go.                          He knew with his eyes there was nothing to know.                          He knew with his hands there was nobody there                          He knew from his lies there was no one to spare.                          He listened but didn't hear                          He saw but didn't look                          There was nothing for him                          Naught in the air                          not a thought, not a limb                          that he could feel                          that he could conjure                          He was desperately calm                          and there was nothing to listen                          It might be a city                          it might be a glade                          It might be a person                          it might be a blade                          It was the same, the same                          the same without saying                          Without anything.                          it was all the same                          He had himself                          and himself was fraying                          he wasn't swimming                          they weren't moving                          he was unseeing                          they saw the bench                          A bench?                          No, he was sure                          absurdly unsure of nothing                          Why was he trying?                          He wasn't trying.                          He could feel his limbs                          but they didn't belong to him                          Is this it?                          The bench                          It's always the same                          Yes, he thought,                          it is the same                          The bench                  Nothing ceasing didn't matter                  Hands and lips, fluttering                  fluttering on, eyes staring on                  There was nobody, nowhere                          The bench.                  Nothing.               What did he know?            What did his hands hide?        The moving statues, were they the same?                          The bench!    No-                          The bench! Wait!--
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FireLight
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 2:11 PM UTC
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