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Benjamin Reed Sep 2017
running away from
Myself
i set out to find
the secret things that
the gods,
both beautiful,
and terrible,
created long before
i should chance to flee.
but, to see them,
i should think they
were created solely for myself.
soley, it would seem,
to bring me to you,
distance aside.

and what erudite things
that i have bore witness!

i saw the sun fall into the
lakes of the north,
and burn them wholly,
until their waters were orange and gold,
too intense to gaze at for long.
and i laughed because,
the gods had thought themselves
fashioners of some grand, beautiful
Scene
but,
they didn't know that i had seen
your naked form,
traced my fingers along the alabaster
perfumed curves of your flesh,
and known that beauty superior.

i saw the places where
they shattered the earth,
and the walls of stone were
painted like something
you would paint
for me
when the words just
couldn't come to you
and you cried the colors
onto the soil.

i saw the fields
where oceans of sweet
grasses and Ancient sage
married one another and
the gods turned themselves
into the uncountable herds
of wild horses, a thousand colors
defying anything that should
seek to break their spirit.
but i had already bathed
in the crucible of your
passion, and seen you
battle Fiercely
for my love.

It's yours.

i saw the vast displacement,
the empty places
where the gods taught man
to destroy, and
subjugate.
to grow false crops
and distance himself
from nature.
but i have known things
far more sinister than
what cruel gods muster.
i, seeking to destroy myself,
had lost you, and,
having won that love again
seek to keep it as such.

i saw the great
steel bones to be warped and wrought
into grand cathedrals, so that
the gods might seek to
prove themselves Real to me,
unknowing that i couldn't
possibly think anything
of the sort.
not while the possibility remained
that you could ever die.
Ekzentrique Jan 2020
It was a hot Sunday afternoon on my way to the bus terminal
Wearing khaki shorts, white converse, and my favorite blue shirt
Walking under the scorching sun like some Quiapo criminal
Craving for ***** ice cream and buy one like the woman on red skirt

Tired, I arrived at the terminal and heard the conductor shout,
“Lucena, Lucena, Lucena,” so I ran and immediately went on
There were a couple chattering and beside them their kid, a scout
Vendors selling Chicharon and Espasol and then they were gone

I can see from my seat most of the bus’ eccentric passengers
One is a weary mother and her cherubic baby crying out loud
A busy businessman on a call, and another is a group of fashioners
But I thought these were all temporary, a transient crowd

So, I stared beyond the vast plains and the nature in disguise
None was ever permanent in this episode, my deep introspection
But one thing I know is certain as sure as the sun will rise
That is slowly I am nearing home, I’m sure of my destination
My journey en route home

— The End —