#inquisitive
Old Sycamore, do you bend your spine
to memorize the rain’s wet signature---
do you count the rings as loss or lore,
and when you sway, is it a wish or a whine?
Old Sycamore, how do you hold the grief
of split bark, the carpenter ant’s slow siege,
the girl who carved her lover’s lie so deep
sap wept two summers just to seal that leaf?
Old Sycamore, why do you raise your crown
like a chalice for the lightning’s kiss?
Do you mistake the storm for holy sound,
the scorched branch for a psalm of permanence?
Old Sycamore, where do you store the small
murders of frost, the robin’s broken egg,
the boy who climbed your shoulders just to fall,
then blamed the bruise upon your crooked leg?
Old Sycamore, when do you decide
to drop the limb too heavy with its dead---
do you practice mercy like a kind of pride,
or simply feel the rot and bow your head?
Old Sycamore, I ask because I know
the winter I keep folded in my chest.
Teach me which scars to wear and which to grow
through, before I ask which branch is next.
May 3
May 3, 2026 at 6:41 PM UTC
Am I to be insulted?
heh heh
Correction; my love.....no.. no-my lust for knowledge is insatiable
Proud to be, in the ways that I'm stuck, to ponder the who's, the when's, the why's and the whats. I thrive to pursue the touch of intelligence to quench the aching must. A combination of patience, self-discipline, determination, and dedication will construct any road you wish to travel in this Nation.
So call me a Nerd, oh i know, I take pride in the fact that I know facts, in fact I bet that that fact alone is why you react by recalling that: I'm a Nerd.
Dec 8, 2020
Dec 8, 2020 at 1:30 AM UTC
A E I O U
And always why (?)
Feb 6, 2020
Feb 6, 2020 at 9:46 AM UTC
Where do I exist?
In the lab?
In my bed?
My body?
But, where am I?
Where do I exist?
How much of my body
could be cut away, separated, from me?
Would there be countless pieces of
flesh and organs,
scattered around one piece:
me?
Is that where I exist?
Is there a specific puzzle piece that,
if removed,
renders the puzzle nonexistent?
Or, rather, if any piece is removed,
altered, or shifted,
does my existence
end?
Where do I exist?
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 1:48 AM UTC
Tell me a story, she asked.
Inquisitive, just like her mother.
Open that door and that'll get you to your storyland. Behind which lie stories never heard and rarely told. And there is where you can weave magic with words and watch them come into reality.
She's been searching for that door ever since.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
Do you know the feeling of holding on to abstract ideas?
Hot and abysmal
Whimsical fears
Dry and unenchanting miserable years?
Do you?
Or do you know the road of normal hopes,
Overpasses and classy folk,
Cheap sunglasses and average Joes?
Do you know those things?
Or does light bring dimmer views
Shadows of doubt cast around
A darker, livid hue
If someone had to die,
Would it be him or you
Or would you simply choose to escape and sing a hymn or two?
See forgiveness doesn't come to those who ask, ask anyone
Even me,
I have asked you plenty ones.
In hindsight, you will see
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC