17h Silverflame
Egg
We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.
Inspired by the Vanity Fair article of André Aciman's reaction to his book *Call Me By Your Name* being made into a movie. Specifically the quote, "I couldn't write silence."
The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
Torrents of water slamming
Emotions
Whipping me away

And I
Am swimming against it
Because I decide

But try as I might
I cannot turn the current
13.08.2018
But I can keep going.
i walked down the stairs
and saw you at the kitchen table
at first glance i noticed you writing
but i couldn't see a piece of paper
i walked up behind you
and put my hand on your shoulder
you looked up at me
with a smile that could light chicago
and pointed to all the pencil marks
on the map you were holding
and said "these are the places i want to go"
until then i'd never seen
poetry that i couldn't read
but something about the lines
and all the plans they represented
brought a tear to my eye
"let's go then" i said
as we ran upstairs to pack a bag
reminiscing about memories
we didn't yet have
and dreaming with both eyes open
Have you ever felt
you loved someone that
you hated the person?

Have you ever felt
you knew everything that
you knew nothing?

Have you ever felt
the overwhelming happiness and grace that
you manifested signs of sadness?

Have you ever felt
the burning heart inside
though you are soaked outside?

Feeling feelings,
i do not fully understand
what they are
but they color the blank sheet of life –
music swims by me
caught in current of cadence
float to measured shores
Silverflame Aug 10
my old futile dreams
make the windows all misty
ripping up the seams
blood mixed with ancient whiskey

a smile around the corner
lures the naive mind
fucking up the world order
another death wish signed

overhead, brick by brick
the november wind stands still
heart oozing of homesick
empty thoughts my glass refill

delusions cover my sight
faraway lights blink with eager
fixing the crooked night
dinner with the grim reaper
A poem I wrote last year, which I someone managed to delete with my clumsy fingers.
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