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22/F/the unknown
just a person letting words surface that are boundless to my emotions
Poems
Molly Oct 2012
Suncatcher
Molly
Oct 2012
Suncatcher.
Looking straight past your actions, I find your intentions. I read them in dark pupils like Webster’s definitions. Despite glass eyes staring as you let me go, your iron curtain countenance was a stained glass window. I see your thoughts cross your mind like I might see tired old man crossing his living room, just before he draws the curtains in the evening. I watched through painted panes as you held yourself still, watched through unblinking windows as you fought your own will. And so I walked to my car, in the dark, alone, breathing clouds of grey vapor in the direction of home. And you stood across the street in the amber street lights that attract the moths whose wing beats my heart finds rhythm with as it flutters from rib to lung to throat, never holding still for fear of permanence. You thought you’d gotten your heart off your sleeves but it will always be a sun catcher, hanging from fishing line, casting cold colored shadows on the actions of a nervous mind, once thought invisible, the windows you hide behind let in just enough light for me see what I knew I’d find.
Honey, I can read your smoke signals.
Looking straight past your actions, I find your intentions. I read them in dark pupils like Webster’s definitions. Despite glass eyes staring as you let me go, your iron curtain countenance was a stained glass window. I see your thoughts cross your mind like I might see tired old man crossing his living room, just before he draws the curtains in the evening. I watched through painted panes as you held yourself still, watched through unblinking windows as you fought your own will. And so I walked to my car, in the dark, alone, breathing clouds of grey vapor in the direction of home. And you stood across the street in the amber street lights that attract the moths whose wing beats my heart finds rhythm with as it flutters from rib to lung to throat, never holding still for fear of permanence. You thought you’d gotten your heart off your sleeves but it will always be a sun catcher, hanging from fishing line, casting cold colored shadows on the actions of a nervous mind, once thought invisible, the windows you hide behind let in just enough light for me see what I knew I’d find.
Honey, I can read your smoke signals.
raen Sep 2011
Suncatcher
raen
Sep 2011
A visitor—
icicle fingers
tapping on my windows' pain—
white blanket in tow
Hurting enough, I paid him no mind
so he kept tap, tap, tapping
‘til cobweb-like cracks appeared:
a final, gentle tap
shatters my windows
My rainbow world
now smothered, pallid,
forced into boredom and slumber,
sunlight chased away
and I am never the same again…
Soul gets plunged deep in the cold
blinded by whiteness, numbed with simplicity
there is an eerie stillness,
almost as if no one dared to breathe,
even the barren trees refused to quiver
brittle dendrites seem to claw the sky
futile though, for they are frozen,
grasping at nothingness,
clouds stubborn and stoic,
brooding in silent grayness
…and then from within, a filigreed whisper escapes
palpable and brave~
it weaves its way through the branches,
gathering strength wherever it went
it beckons to the sky, which in turn
gives in and celebrates ~
letting dainty confetti fall
white, yet amazingly graceful
each flake falls softly on the ground—
a fashionable brocade
trees softly sway now,
and dance to a winter song
the sky weeps with happiness
for seeing a glimpse of life—
diamond teardrops
they catch a bit of evasive sunlight,
of which I thought I’ve lost
and give birth to miniature rainbows…
all this time, Sunlight was there
I just
never knew
how to
catch
it.
icicle fingers
tapping on my windows' pain—
white blanket in tow
Hurting enough, I paid him no mind
so he kept tap, tap, tapping
‘til cobweb-like cracks appeared:
a final, gentle tap
shatters my windows
My rainbow world
now smothered, pallid,
forced into boredom and slumber,
sunlight chased away
and I am never the same again…
Soul gets plunged deep in the cold
blinded by whiteness, numbed with simplicity
there is an eerie stillness,
almost as if no one dared to breathe,
even the barren trees refused to quiver
brittle dendrites seem to claw the sky
futile though, for they are frozen,
grasping at nothingness,
clouds stubborn and stoic,
brooding in silent grayness
…and then from within, a filigreed whisper escapes
palpable and brave~
it weaves its way through the branches,
gathering strength wherever it went
it beckons to the sky, which in turn
gives in and celebrates ~
letting dainty confetti fall
white, yet amazingly graceful
each flake falls softly on the ground—
a fashionable brocade
trees softly sway now,
and dance to a winter song
the sky weeps with happiness
for seeing a glimpse of life—
diamond teardrops
they catch a bit of evasive sunlight,
of which I thought I’ve lost
and give birth to miniature rainbows…
all this time, Sunlight was there
I just
never knew
how to
catch
it.
Gideon
2d
Two pairs of pliers in my hand. A silver chain between them. To most, this is creation. But, no. This is destruction. Tugging at the jump rings is also pulling at my heartstrings. Is it sympathy? Do I empathize with the connections that my own hands wrought? No, it's a steaming burning hot coal sitting heavily upon my pride. Why am I rendering my own creation useless? Taking all the shiny ends off the suncatcher, so that it may deflect rays of light no more. Well, I must. I have no choice. I must destroy the best thing I ever made to make smaller versions of it. These flawed fractions will be nothing like my original work. They will be merely reflections of it. Like deflected rays of light becoming a rainbow, they will become less. Less color. Less joy. Less pride. I will take less pride in these smaller artworks, though artworks they are. They are only a sliver of shattered glass compared to an ornate mirror. A mirror that once reflected me.