Tangled mass of briers
chokes the trailhead leading into
a dark forest with echoing calls;
a murder flaps wildly and their
chorus fills the valley with song
both frightening and
exhilarating to my blood.
A chill creeps through me
as the mountain stream nearby
has entered my body at the neck
traveled every inch of my vein and artery
before leaving me at the ankle
and rejoining its own meandering body.
Is it the distant buzz of chainsaw
or simply a concert of crickets, each
tiny violin poised and ready to launch
that leaves me holding my breath? /
I find myself
and sometimes I find myself
We talk it all
over for a while
Wondering which steps
It's tough being human
All frailties and all
The fact our days are numbered
kind of says it all
I told myself
in a short story
at a young age
Not to forget the dream,
The main character
He forgot the dream
when the music
feeling it inside
in a trance
higher and higher
some may even call it
The moment though
it always passes
Sometimes when the mood
it comes on back
Sometimes gotta go
Sometimes gotta stay
Sometimes healing is
on its way
Sometimes in wise mind
trying to figure on out
how to stay.
going to find ourselves
and find ourselves
along the way.
They call it guilt, John.
That's what the voice in the dark of the night,
would always whisper upon me.
But I was deaf, so I would never hear it.
Oh, it's just what they'll all say,
"It's not your fault",
That your brother died,
That you're a broken husk of a man.
Worry not, worry not, fair snakeskin,
surely you, too,
will shed your skin and fly, fly away.
But he doesn't get to fly now does he?
No all he exists is,
as a sad, cold face,
dead, under the refraction of light,
that pool's death gleams.
Hmm, but you enjoy this don't you,
John, the voice said to me.
The tragic backstory, the shameless reason.
For such gleeful ecstasy, surerly,
The small price of the lie called brother,
of innocence, of life,
of something you never really had, something you never really lose,
what an even sacrifice, John, what a fair toll,
in fact how favored are you, to so enjoy,
I won't tell if you won't, she says, whispered. Why always a she and who? It finishes anyways; whether I want it to...
So I can have,
my whip in hand.
That is my truth.
I have loved you still,
When I could no longer turn you into poetry.
I have loved you from afar,
When you needed space to spread your wings and navigate.
I have loved you freely,
Because labeling things usually restrict their growth
I have loved you in silence,
And you still heard every confession I never uttered.
I have loved you, unabashedly,
Let my words rage on,
I have loved you gently,
The way moon sings lullabies to a kid.
I have loved you in hues,
Both crimson and blue,
And so when the winter comes,
And your hands are cold,
I'd still be holding you.
I have loved you when you were a poem,
I have loved you when you were spiteful words thrown away, casually.
I have loved you at your best,
I have loved you when you yourself could not.
If either of us dies
It will be in celebration of
Spring smells nice.
Us Norwegians live by
Hair stays on her
Pillow we both
Like there's no
I spell "love" however
Death adores its
Love hold hands and
Walk. We walk a lot.
The me that needed you back then,
did not get the you who needed me
not as I was but who I used to be or
perhaps a better version of what I am now.
So our misbegotten love ached and tore,
and you belittled me with an angels laugh,
and I cursed you, forever marking you,
in the decrepit depths
of my now stone dead heart.
They say that everyone has
'The One' out there for them.
But they never tell you what to do,
when you meet them wrong,
and they are long gone.
A friend came to me,
and showed me some
I felt plastic.
My face wasn't right.
My pounds weighed heavily upon
my stone heart.
which brought some lies
in the form of false facade.
burnt away, thought the mask remained
She looked in my eyes
I hate the knowing.
Because I know not myself.
And I know all too well.
It is disgusting.
I wanted to tell her everything.
As I bit my tongue
I'll think about it
I appreciate it.
I listen but don't hear
My life story is a burden
I refuse to place on others
This weight I bear.
This depression, always in the back.
She had seen.
Naked. Raw. Open. Exposed. Defeated.
I feel at a loss.
When I know I should have won.
Someone I should not love.
But show me that genuine kindness.
Understand. And I am done.
My gift is my curse.
My heart beats for no one.
As I sit here on my patio
Watching the cars go by.
I think how peaceful this day is
As I see the USA FLAG flying high
Then inside I go, turn on the news...
And ask myself...WHY, WHY, WHY...
Do I watch this news
There is nothing good to hear
Another storm, fires
and politics...WHY, WHY, WHY...
Hilary hates Trump and
Trump hates Hilary
We already know that
Isn't there something good to share?
I guess it doesn't help
To have ABC and CBS news apps
On my phone....ALERTS, ALERTS, ALERTS...
ooops there goes one now...
Catch ya later...
Come walk with me a mile...
Walk on without our burden’s weighty shoes,
warily trudging over the long rocky pathway
a lifetime in my soul.
A final edifying voyage to freedom.
The winds of change are blowing briskly
as we walk charily over the long and narrowing
I shed these boots and skin, no longer fitting
my scared, blistered and callused soles.
As time slowly passes,
this craggy passage has evolved
from a two-way trail,
into one-way jagged forage…
Standing barefooted and naked on rocky ground,
dark sunken sleepless eyes scan
the rolling vista as the wind blows
dust from the halo around the sun,
blurring the delicate wispy cirrus clouds.
The sun’s radiance paints frozen ice crystal azure
into a vivid aura of prisms’ brilliant corona.
Kaleidoscope rainbows adorn the closest of solar stars.
There's something in the ethereal air
that leaves my soul unsettled,
grasping for an evocative stability
trying to understand the silenced voices
crying out within…
The pain and suffering has vanished
as if the body and soul have separated,
numbness from the ache of longing,
severed nerves, callused fears
ruptured on serrated rocky edges,
deadened useless flesh cut to the bone
by misjudged obstacles encountered enduringly.
The barefooted spirit courses on,
suffused in the solar spectrum’s dust;
yearning, longing to saunter
above and beyond the bloated feathery pillows;
cumulus clouds finally resting at peace.
Dipping heart's lesions and these benumbed toes
into a healing balm
from the bowers of bliss..
An unfinished life
an open ended dream,
reluctantly waking to take the last ,
surrendering steps beyond the threshold...
A long and winding rocky journey’s destiny
The halo around the moon
illuminates an understanding firmament;
the celestial sphere’s
pending imminent soulful rain awaits
the metamorphosis at the brink of dawn.
A shower of heaven's rain
shall mourn the loss of flesh form
as the spirit of an untamed soul lives on,
naked and free
like the dust in the wind
2011 © harlon rivers
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