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raen Aug 2011
Ever had those moments when you were convinced--
no, make that Definite,
that everything was going your way?

Map in hand, destination in sight
then only to be horrified
that you suddenly
didn't know how to read the map?
That the compass doesn't work,
that you misinterpreted the signs?

So you are left with nothing.
Stuck in a place
between the now and the future--

Which is basically nowhere at all.

Asking for directions is pointless,
because the people you ask
are as clueless as you are--
wandering in their own vicious circles;
of rings getting tangled, untangled,
clashing then finally collapsing
into unlinkable chains

A conundrum, really.

Imagine this map as a perfect puzzle image,
shattered into a million jagged pieces in midair--
and they lie suspended there,
floating, painstakingly taking forever
to fall--- to--- the......... ground
You try to catch them, but are hesitant,
because the pieces are so sharp, angry
leaving you with bleeding cuts all over
and yet if you fail to do so, and they hit the ground
they shatter once again,
as dust

Impossible task, really.

Crying does you no good,
since tears mixed with that dust--
well, you are only left with mud

So what's one left with?

Instinct.

Sheer gut.

And you can only hope and pray
that you don't make a wrong turn this time.

Completely thrown off course,
you follow what you think is right.

Collect yourself,
read the signs again

and walk on.

Might take you days, even years
but at least you still tried,
refusing to just stand still,
waiting for the paths to show you the way.

You pave those paths yourself,
without trampling on ants
and maybe one day
you'd suddenly find yourself
in front of that lockless door
that was meant for you alone.

It is clamped shut though,
and will only open when it sees you.

This is that door that actually leads to the
place you've been searching for all along.

It doesn't have any locks at all
simply because
You are the key.
Wrote this for a title prompt of The Lockless Door
07072011328p357
Sydney Victoria Nov 2012
A Door's Rusty Hinges Screeched As It Is Opened,
Though The Outside Of This Hall Is Ugly,
Paint Chipping,
The Scars Of Screams Entwined In Eggshell Trim,
The Room Which Lays On The Other Side,
Is Full Of Beauty,
Is Full Of Tubes Of Paint,
Some Which Lay On The Floor,
Which Kisses Oak Furnishings,
Some Lay On An Abandon Easel,
Next To A Canvas,
Half Completed,
Created By Shaky Hands

Empty Vases Sit On A Window Pane,
Which Await,
For The Return Of Freshly Picked Wild Flowers,
Awaiting The Return,
Of The Soft Glow Of A Candle,
A Lanturn Perches On A Bookshelf,
Full Of Stained Pages And Ripped Covers,
The Stale Scent Of Memories Cling To Each Chapter,
A Small Handcrafted Stool,
Sits In This Ancient Home,
In The Artist's Heart

The Ancient Smell Of Paint,
Is No More,
Though The Stains Of Blues And Greens,
Are Now Grey As Clay Upon The Floor,
Yet Paintings Dwell On The Off-White Walls,
Some Brilliant,
Others A Hot Mess,
Self Portraits,
Redish Hair Cascading Like A Waterfall,
Down A Slim Collarbone,
Some Of Them The Women Smiles,
Others She Frowns,
Landscapes Of Rolling Hills,
And The Moonlight Leaking Through Coniffer Forests,
Are Stacked Ontop Of Eachother,
And A Mirror Which Stared At The Artist's Face,
And Who Saw Her Take Her Last Breath,
Climbs Motionlessly On The Wall

If You Looked Close Enough,
You Could See Perfectly Preserved Fingerprints,
On The Cracked Glass Of The Window,
As If She Were Longing To Be Free,
As If She Were A Prisoner,
In A Colorful Cell,
A Prisoner In Lockless Cage,
A Prisoner With Flushed Cheeks,
Yet A Face Still Pale,
One Who Longed To Express Herself,
To The Monarchy,
Imprisoned For Creativity,
She Lay In This Room,
Breathed This Air,
Painted These Pictures,
Yet Where Is She Now?
If You Walked Into A Room In My Soul, This Is What It Would Look Like, The Spawning Of Creativity, Hidden Under A "Clueless" Shell... I Love To Paint But I'm Not Very Good.. I Should Probably Work More On My Art:)
If I were to knock
Knock-knock
Would you let me in
Or keep the lockless door
Locked?
It's seems I've been struck
by being caught in a riddle
where the middle line
is something about time
and it's correlation
between poetry creation
and feeling euphoric

If I were to ask
Does this poem
Bring about some emotion
Or even a notion....?

I guess in the end
What I want to know
If I were to knock
Knock-knock
Would you let me in
Or keep the lockless door
Locked?
Jackson Freeman Oct 2020
I expected a chariot,
was trained to hold reins,
feed horses,
and know when to whip them.
Hours I spent shuffling across sheer faces
to teach me the balance necessary.
I took notes from oaks on how to keep my feet firmly planted,
legs bending, never breaking.
I suffered the hurricane
to learn to not blink with wind in my face.
I humored Time, to learn from its spinning wheel
so that I might know my own.
I turned to the trust of beasts
thinking they might one day guide me.
I glared at charioteers,
My coliseum competition.
I sat, eyes closed, by the ocean
To acquaint me with a roar
I would expect from an audience.
I stripped myself bare
So that I may learn the choices of judges.
I was prepared for a chariot.

But what arrived was a ratty coup of unknown make;
a wheezing, rusted contraption with wobbling wheels,
a cracked, insect-stained windscreen,
valves of leaky ichor,
a missing cigarette lighter,
a lockless glove box,
a tailpipe that belched black omen,
windows that rolled by hand and got stuck,
seats of the kind of leather your skin sticks to in the summer and froze in winter,
and an AM/FM radio filled with static.
No spare tire.

I was livid.


This vehicle was to carry me to my onward days,
to the paradise of my imagination?
I was to collude with my romantics in the passenger seat
of this rolling mausoleum?
To commute to my place of wage
and not have my vessel reflect my value?
To pass my days of leisure
knowing a bunker of my perturbation watched from the driveway?

I tried to hew a chariot of my own,
but first the wood of the trees of my garden proved too weak.
Then my crooked wheels seemed to want to separate away from each other.
And the only beasts to pull it were dogs,
made fat from the gristle of my meals that I threw them
in my days of anticipation.
I conceded to the coup.

Misery so often my chauffeur,
I plotted and plodded along with the wheels I was given,
Diverting my eyes from Apollos in the sky,
Pulled by glistening pegasi.

A friend,
also couped up,
Told me to make the most of it.
So I’ve been trying.

I tried to take its namelessness as something to which I might give a name.
As it wheezed I heard it breathing, liable to collapse, but
Alive
nonetheless.
The warped wheels wove their own way,
and I imagined the invisible burden of unseen beasts
with greater senses of direction than mine.
I saw the insects in front of me as company.
As the pipes oozed, I conjured hopes that they were like a gallbladder,
concentrating bile then removing it.
I sensed that the missing lighter meant I shouldn’t be smoking.
The glove box lacked a latch for ease of access,
and I read from the messages scrawled in smoke in my rear-view mirror.
The effort made to breathe through the manual windows
made me appreciate the breaths I took.
The broken sound system taught me to make my own music.
And the lack of a spare tire taught me to drive very, very carefully;
There would be no second chances.

The coup is a symptom of my broken hopes for my future’s reality.
But,
unlike the chariot,
it is real,
and its state of breaking can
Hopefully
be fixed.
I can sit when I wish to be seated.
I can bring others with me wherever.
The direction is dictated by me and not the whims of beasts.
The AC stutters, but it’s there.
There’s a trunk where I can put my memories.
And,
also unlike the chariot,
I can go very, very fast
if I want to.
a piece on life expectations
cmp Nov 2019
yo shrink me chat with u
put away that shrink wrap
cause my clear water sifter
will help us win dat weekly
rock paper scissors pick 3 lottery

yes i walked under a *******
though i think i fell twice on a std
after applying for a partime cloudy  

yep before ye sent me we called lock smith
to open then shutout dat lockless  monster

no i only used store brand wet paper trips
to wrap about trained charging elephants
locked in ran out of standing room only
nut-trunk

— The End —