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It was a cold and early morning,
the morning I realised the full extent of the universe.
I saw it, glittering and flickering,
blinking softly, twinkling like a diamond,
like a star,
like a universe.
It was Spring, of course,
the end of Spring. Summer on the horizon,
Summer dripping in.
And I caught sight of the universe, glittering like a universe does
and in it I saw a man, hunched and wrinkled,
his face a crater, a ravine,
eyes cold and grey, sunken,
lips chapped,
hair thin.
He opened his mouth and a voice, cracked, poured out, filling the space,
like water into a ***,
overflowing,
curling around the universe,
a liquid voice.
It spoke and it said:
      "I am a wizard, the greatest of our age,
       the greatest of all,
       a necromancer,
       young, killed, reborn, reborn, reborn!
       And I know you and I love you
       and I've always know you and always loved you,
       and I know where you began
       and I think I know where you end."
And then he paused. He smacked his lips,
his cold grey eyes blinked up at me,
and then he continued:
      "Child, I am starting to fear your birth into sorrow."
And I'd never felt so know,
so understood,
so exposed.
And then he took my hand
and asked that I walk with him
and how could I say no?
So we walked, waded through his liquid voice,
circling the universe,
round and round.
And he asked me to speak
and how could I say no?
So I said the first thing that came to mind,
a quiet thought that appeared when I looked into him,
into his cold, grey eyes.
And I said it soft and hesitant, my voice wavered,
but I said it all the same:
      "I am no wizard, no necromancer,
       I am a nothing, a nobody,
       but soon I will grow, I will grow.
       I will grow and behold! Yes!
       Yes, I will grow and behold!
       And behold!
       And behold!"
And our circling continued
and he laughed and said:
      "Child, nobody is anybody.
       Child, once you are grown
       you will be laid to stone, to dust,
       to dust, to stone."
I told him such words reminded me of the construction work near my house,
of how it looks like a desert,
of how I don't think anybody should live there.
Should live here.
I told him that I need trees and I need air and I need mud
and not the kind you get there.
Not the kind you get here.
And he just smiled and stopped walking
and he turned to me,
his cold grey eyes filled with tears,
his smile remained
and he spoke for the final time:
      "We live here only,
       and we live here always,
       and we live here good.
       Come, look with me, child, don't fear,
       don't worry.
       My hand is in yours,
       yours in mine,
       old and young mixing together.
       An eternity between us
       between the spaces in our fingers, our palms,
       old and young merging together."
And so, his hand in mine, mine in his, he led me closer and closer
to that universe we'd circled
until we were millimetres from it
and his hand tightened in mine, and mine tightened in his
and I let him walk me inside.
Inside the blinking, twinkling universe.
For a moment all I saw was sound and light,
a horrible feeling,
a great discomfort,
great displacement,
a feeling I'll never forget.
But then it stopped. My hand was empty, the old man was gone
and I was inside the universe
and it was not what I was expecting.
It did not glitter or flicker,
blink or twinkle.
No, the universe is in fact plain and boring.
No, the universe is nothing but a spiral staircase,
it's walls are made entirely of mirrors.
It does nothing but reflect.
And it was in this moment
that all my thoughts became one,
streaming together
filling my mind,
my body.
And I smiled and my eyes filled with tears
and the thought was this:
      When I die, I have but one request,
      that you bury me where I began.
For in this staircase
in this reflection,
I know that my only want was to live a futile life,
to walk forever and then right back again.
And it was after this revelation that I was returned home
on a cold and early morning
at the end of Spring,
where the Summer drips in.
And I was half awake and half asleep,
and I half dreamt of an old wizard, tears in his cold grey eyes,
a bright light flickering, bringing him home, smiling.
And I half stared at the rising sun and the rolling clouds
seeping into my bedroom from half open curtains,
and I thought:
      We live here only,
      and we live here always,
      and we live here good.
If I were not old
I would paint the house
and shore up the insulation.
I would go out and **** the garden
and cut down brush and vines
that have taken over the yard
and suffocated my flowers.
I would put in a metal fence
and plant roses around it.
But I am too old for that
and I may die here one day,
in a darkened room, caught
inside the crumbling plaster,
whose windows are covered by ivy,
which reaches its fingers across the walls.
It is almost as if the errant plants
strive to imitate the flowers
I used to bring inside and
place in bouquets to brighten
my world, no matter how small.
I shudder to think what will be,
now that the flowers are gone.
The idea of painting the house came from a line in a film; a man was asked what he'd do if his situation were different (can't recall what it was) and he said "I'd paint my house'. I identified with that and the frustration of not being able to do it. Then it veered off into aging and death, and I just followed my errant thoughts--it's foolish to ignore them!
Iska Feb 27
Days flit by
like a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


As If watching a leaky faucet
In a plugged sink
The drops are slow to build
Weighted down by their own mass
As they reach a point where gravity
can no longer be surpassed,
To a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


As they fall into the basin
scattering ripples
And splattering droplets
As they fall
Gathering light in a glittering bowl
As the next drop slowly begins to flow
By the
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


But once you’re attention is pulled
And the visual is no longer there
Only a sound heard
Consistent tempo filling the air
Seeming to speed
where eyes can’t see
And the budding drops
fall carelessly
With a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


before you know it the basin is filled
With the drops cascading
beyond ones will
And the ripples now
scatter to waves against the brim
Caving to gravities endless whim
As a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


Once you notice, it’s far too late
The marble is shimmering
with streams and ponds
As it tallies the fee of water wasted
So too does time slip from the basin
And the coins we pay
exchanged with age
To a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


Before you know it
time has come to a stop
along with both
the drip
and the drop
this is the day I begin to feel old
the back is always sore
the knees are shot
the shoulder aches
my real teeth are down to four

a bout with cancer has taken its toll
but they caught it early so I shouldn't moan
what little strength that had remained
has left with my testosterone

my feet and toes are turning numb
my eyes are fading fast
it takes an act of congress now
to exercise my wrinkled ***

my memory now is headed south
it wasn't good to start
the only things I do more often
is eat, sleep and ****

but I'll be 70 come July
I really shouldn't *****
I've seen and done some crazy things
and I've yet to lose that itch!
getting old
B May 29
It's 4am
and nothing makes sense
you’re perched like a stray cat
balanced upon my picket fence.
Can't get too close
for fear of toppling over.
I try and I try
never been able to move any slower.

I say you're a friend
hands to myself, like you're no lover.
Find something else to do
another place to hover.
Call you my friend
say you're like a brother.
I promise all these things
knowing I believe another.

Peach fuzz on your chin
it has grown along with you,
can't remember when.
Let's drown these feelings away
go for one last swim.
You're a man now
and I don't know where to begin.
Glitter and salty residue
frames my blown up eyes
tell me what this is
remove your indifferent disguise.

Took all my favorite things
and threw them around my room
nothing feels valued
without you.
Now I am broke and things are broken
a problem to be solved
a lip that has been bit open.
Lick me fresh,
clean my wounds,
straighten up this mess,
and kiss where I am bruised.
Ruben Whitter Feb 24
His fears were eclipsed by crackling amber crystals caressing the plums on each side of his nose, retexturizing the
squelches beneath his marooned tread – cushioning this fallen star as he prepared to grow new roots. Hurricanes of
melody camouflaged his screams with a symphony of vibrato from an overseeing parliament of wise, wide-eyed, totems with infinite flight. Silently, the heavens rinsed the pain from his eyes to sweeten the acorns of lost hope he had
****** upon him as a souvenir from his shipwreck. Depth begets strength to this sapling as he embarked on this
streetified forest through a shimmering of honeycomb and goldenrod shards cutting through crimson flakes as if nature
was stealing pigment from God herself; only rejecting the royalist of purples to comfort peering shining stars as they
witness his resplendence amongst a grounded haze of jewelled apricots greenly repulsed by the sin of gravity.

Imposed poison touch
forced ejection from the womb.
Run! Rebirth? Marooned.
First published in Chappy - Whittword Publications - 2022
Ralph Bobian Feb 18
..Reminiscing..
Thinking back on all the memories
And priceless times that I had
And how I should’ve valued in the moment
every moment that’s passed
But ****..
I never thought this feeling young for so long
would end up passing by me so fast..
What I promised myself everyday for tomorrow
Now lies dead in the past
..I guess life needs to give you a reality check
But now I’m looking for closure
Stuck in the dying days of my youth
Fighting this losing battle
of trying not to get older
I’m colder
because of it
Can’t stomach it, can’t run from it
& can’t be done with it
Unless it’s done with you
But that’s life..
or at least from my experience
Rarely does it leave you
feeling left in a bliss
Rarely does it leave you
feeling west of what is..
Who could’ve expected this?
No one
And yet we all experience it
At least one way or another,
So it’s one foot in front of the other
Next day after another
Stuck chasing after the memories
we reminisce with each other
****…
neth jones Feb 12
im so tired   and poisonous   and old
where do i go  my heart stuffed with this dry darkness ?
   with my aches   and my revealing pained impressions ?
death via exposure  would be timely                                          
with the short days   and straining snow   and thick winds
   i could step out   and follow their tugs and ropes north
                                        doff my gear and 'take a walk'
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