Jul 2013
As I struggle to see
From my own two eyes,
Breath builds and
Falls
From swollen lungs.
I am fighting to get back,
To get back
To where I once was.
But in this moment,
Discovering to go back to anywhere
Is a pointless, treacherous
Thing to do.
And though the clues
I have gathered
And the luck I have enjoyed
Has shows to be
all obliviously received.
I still feel as if I have gained
Nothing.
What I have learned is as
Befitting as army boots on a butterfly,
Or as
Loving as a newly sharpened dagger or - better yet -
As necessary as a poet who sees beauty but cannot write it down.
Eight halves of these white, dirtied windows
Stand reflecting the building across from me.
Am I happy, or am I just going through the motions?
And when I look into these mirrors - stained and
Pulled - the sight reminds me of how we frail people
Also pull the shade when someone may be looking too close.
Halves of an eclipsed moon.
At both ends of the pool.
Shallow and deep.
Desperate to be entered.
Anxiously awaiting one's solitude.
Our secrets
Are their secrets, her and his and grandma's secrets,
The neighbors and the mayor's,
The mother's and the crooked lawyer's.
Communally burrowing away,
Protecting ourselves from ourselves.
We forget that the sun is our father
And the Earth our infinite never-ending mother.
And we simply their passing and coming
Children.
Failure
Can be an art
But a Masterpiece is made by
Taking all of one's past failures
Bringing its
Daggers
Sorrows
Pains of blows siphoning hope
So to create
Only something
You could make.
After experience comes loss,
Fading from light to darkness.
Only to seek a new
Experience to bring the light again.
At noon the bell will toll.
A sound created to ensure and protect.
Everyone needs something to
Fall back on sometime.
Quivering eye
Scared and fearful of man's forgetful mind.
There is a shape others make
To remember the dead so to make themselves
Feel more apart of life than death.
Some wish to live forever.
Others wish to die in battle.
Others in peace.
I wish to die the way the clouds do:
Burn off and to appear again
On another pearl blue horizon.
From my own two eyes,
Breath builds and
Falls
From swollen lungs.
I am fighting to get back,
To get back
To where I once was.
But in this moment,
Discovering to go back to anywhere
Is a pointless, treacherous
Thing to do.
And though the clues
I have gathered
And the luck I have enjoyed
Has shows to be
all obliviously received.
I still feel as if I have gained
Nothing.
What I have learned is as
Befitting as army boots on a butterfly,
Or as
Loving as a newly sharpened dagger or - better yet -
As necessary as a poet who sees beauty but cannot write it down.
Eight halves of these white, dirtied windows
Stand reflecting the building across from me.
Am I happy, or am I just going through the motions?
And when I look into these mirrors - stained and
Pulled - the sight reminds me of how we frail people
Also pull the shade when someone may be looking too close.
Halves of an eclipsed moon.
At both ends of the pool.
Shallow and deep.
Desperate to be entered.
Anxiously awaiting one's solitude.
Our secrets
Are their secrets, her and his and grandma's secrets,
The neighbors and the mayor's,
The mother's and the crooked lawyer's.
Communally burrowing away,
Protecting ourselves from ourselves.
We forget that the sun is our father
And the Earth our infinite never-ending mother.
And we simply their passing and coming
Children.
Failure
Can be an art
But a Masterpiece is made by
Taking all of one's past failures
Bringing its
Daggers
Sorrows
Pains of blows siphoning hope
So to create
Only something
You could make.
After experience comes loss,
Fading from light to darkness.
Only to seek a new
Experience to bring the light again.
At noon the bell will toll.
A sound created to ensure and protect.
Everyone needs something to
Fall back on sometime.
Quivering eye
Scared and fearful of man's forgetful mind.
There is a shape others make
To remember the dead so to make themselves
Feel more apart of life than death.
Some wish to live forever.
Others wish to die in battle.
Others in peace.
I wish to die the way the clouds do:
Burn off and to appear again
On another pearl blue horizon.
