Ears of wax consume themselves
with other flames of old
unbeknownst to the mouth so bold
to waste its breath beneath
a pale moon so cold,
hoping to shed a light
into the great unknown.

The lips of ****** red
sing tales of the future,
the eardrum silent to their call,
enamoured with its own infatuation
for the silence of downfall.

What good is it, then,
to sing atop your lung
of dreams and hopes
that will reamin unsung?

Shenanigans

Ridiculously unusual
This familiar face,
Peering out of a photograph
Into an empty space,
With the eyes of a child
Where my life began,
Yet with the aging skin
Of a dying man.

Grotesquely beautiful,
This gaping wound,
Oozing its mischief,
Honed and fine tuned,
Perfectly imperfect,
Crafted yet shoddy,
Just a few broken fragments
Where there should be a body.

Extraordinarily ordinary,
I am an unknown name,
Written on a stone
Where all stones look the same,
Where the dreams of strangers
Are too vivid to save,
Archived in a memory,
Concealed in a grave.

Unutterable shenanigans
Of lovers and old friends
Pretentious well-wishers
As my life-force ends,
And kneeling at a headstone
Between photographs aflame
Is me, as a child,
Chiselling my name.

© RJVHorton2015

When he was in second grade
He picked up one piece of paper.
And on it he drew a dinosaur
With a stubby green crayon.
And he handed it to his nanny
Who smiled and hung it
In a frame in his room
Where it protected his bed.
And just about every Sunday,
His dad took some paper
And creased its sides
With his sharp nail
Until it was a plane
That soared over their heads
And gleeful smiles.
And his father promised him
That every Sunday
They could fly their planes
In the front yard.

When he was in high school
He picked up one piece of paper
And on it he wrote his midterm
The morning it was due.
And he handed it to his teacher
Who frowned and vandalized it
With red dots and lines,
Criticizing his work,
Just like she always did.
And his father rubbed his shoulder
As he cried about the stress
He told his son not to worry
And to keep trying his best.
Then he picked up the paper
And creased its sides
With his sharp nail
Until it was a plane
That soared above their heads
And his son’s tear filled smile.

When he was in college
He picked up one piece of paper.
And on it he signed his name
Swearing that his behavior would get better.
And he handed it to his professor
Who scolded him once more
Saying that if it continued
He was guaranteed to fail.
And when the news reached his father,
He screamed at his failure son,
Which he had been doing a lot of recently.
And his son yelled back
While his words collided with his dad’s.
Because the screaming continued,
But the listening had never started.
Then the boy crumpled the paper
And slammed it to the ground
So there would be no planes
To soar above their heads
And their identical scowls.

When he was an adult
He picked up one piece of paper.
And wrote a proposal to his boss
While he sat in his office.
And as he went to deliver it,
He heard a frantic voice announce
A tragedy in New York.
And the news made him stop
Right there in his tracks
while he dropped to his knees.
And the office panicked
For the sake of their own safety.
But he only heaved in sorrow
Knowing his poor father
Who he hadn’t spoken to in years
Was on that plane
That had soared above people’s heads
And their frightful shouts
And crashed into the tower.

When he left home on Sunday
He picked up one piece of paper.
And on it he scribbled down
A eulogy for his father.
And he drove past his old front yard
Where many years ago
His imagination used to fly
Along with his paper airplanes.
And he arrived at the funeral
Where he delivered his speech
While the water sprung from his eyes,
Forming artwork on his cheeks.
But before they lowered the casket
he took his tear stained eulogy
and creased its sides
with his sharp nail
until it was a plane
that would rest on his father’s chest
and soar within their spirits.

I stood in the silence abiding the time until you spoke
Even needing you couldn't bring you out from where you're hiding
Sometimes the dullness of life left me feeling like I never got off on my feet
Never got to the door and never leaving
So when I called out your name no one listened
And now that I'm nailed off not a name is spoken
Then where are you, and when are you now the person that you promised
I waited so long and haven't found the thing that you left me with
I thought it was love but love is broken
An epic that everyone was involved in, no casting
So where have you been?
Not lost in the darkness
Not found in the light
Still sequestering in the beautiful night above
So slow so still in the quiet air now my love
Does the north bring me to you?
And the south back to where I laid?
Yet in the black and blue there is no sign, no shadow of where you lay.
Then where is it?
When does it?
Will it be where the unknowable plays?
Because you won't tell.
And the leaves can't say.
I'm left with everything that I want to create
But when I want nothing what is it then will I delineate?
To you about all the questions that my endless curiosities leave me every single day.