~
Hand and needle,
weapons of mass protection.
Mending day called solace,
bitterness in every stitch.
When all guides disappear
the hand begins to tremble,
that is the material point.
Listen to the water,
the sea is full of memories.
It knows everything,
it feels nothing.

A rage is building.
The sails unfurl,
the wind follows.
A hundred years of
traversing the deep
on a ship full of opiates
and other distant mermaids.
This blood vessel,
cresting the heart of the wave,
you will never completely cross
this body of water
until you learn to trust
the hands that hold back
death and it's squall.

Even now they drop anchor, singing
into the starry sky:

"Gather ye fishermen's wives
As thy men roll out to sea
Pray one and all
Thy sails hold strong this day..."
~

I blinked, but beheld it,
the marching of warships,
the broken caskets
at the feet where bishops
of Brixen worshipped,
and the agonizing steps to the castle
-- a spiritual climb --
gifts and prayers in each one's pocket,
(you've got yours, I've got mine).

And there it was opening in the sky:
a woman, in between cycles,
clothed with the sun;
her groom carries her up those steps,
they ring the bell,
and make a wish
for their love to flow against
the current like sea flowers
in the spring.

I blinked, but beheld it,
there was smoke,
there was wind,
there was nothing
but the warm scent of potica,
and pletna aplenty,
their upright oarsmen rowing
through the bloodstream.

They row for the stillborn
who never see the sun.

But there is freewill, and there is sin.

Our kingdom rise.
Our kingdom fall.

Forgive us first, Father,
(our blood shall feed the earth).

Now that family have separated
From the gathering your funeral brought
Can we still talk of the dearly departed?
When everyone else is so caught
Up in their own sky, clouded by judgment

That a slab of Marble brings people together
And that personal troubles is not above the weather
And the smell of rain as it drips down our hair
To fill the role of tears where our minds don't care

To the grandkids you never got to hug
To the machines that were plugged
The hospital you never awoke from
To me who never visited cause I was afraid and dumb


Do you nod your head in anger? Do your tears Bring rain?
When we stray from the right path and cause each other pain?
Do you regret like we do? Or do you forget in paradise?
Are you finally at peace? Does the ignorance suffice?

I hope you never have to see us at our worst
That only love bursts from your eyes
From the golden Skies, where you hide
That the blinding light hides the truth
That we're struggling in our youth

Find peace Ouma, and please be at the entrance when we die
So we could cry, and be suprised when you haven't changed one bit
That your joy persists and we can't resist looking back
That you're finally on track, no bills or selfish entities
That your soul is intact, and you don't lose your Amenity

I wrote a short HePo series, an amalgamation of poetry and narrative. I tried to make a journey out of it for the reader in the classic Choose Your Own Adventure style in the sense that the onus was on the reader to continue the narrative instead of simply imploring the reader to turn the page.

This is the 'Director's Cut' for those without copious free-time to invest in internet sleuthing. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it:

Chapter One:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4930049/1-hades-lament/

Chapter Two:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4930058/2-no-where/

Chapter Three:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4930062/3-death/

Chapter Four:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4930078/4-a-day-goes-by/

Epilogue:
https://kiloblitz.net/2024/12/09/life-of-nowhere/

It's hell out there; you open a pack,
Flip the first one—luck on the line.
The enemy waits, prepared to attack.
Smoke it last, if you’ve survived time.

I’ve been saving mine, the pack intact,
Twenties dwindled, now just one.
The crypt lies bare, fate’s lonely pact,
A single smoke, a superstitious sun.

Like these cigarettes, I too stand alone,
A thousand cuts, each loss its own toll.
We share this space, a makeshift home,
Chasing luck to fill the hole.