I’ve heard Frida Kahlo paints flowers so

they will not die.

I am not a painter, but I wonder if

putting brush to canvas constitutes

a form of immortality, then.

I wonder if we are meant to know of it.

Preserving forever that which was made

to last a single season, does it count as

an act of war against God?

Can we truly comprehend that word?

Forever carries implications only seen

by the other side of the veil.

To try, still, to create temporal things

that belong beyond the temporal

with our imperfect knowledge of the notion

of forever,

is it not akin to hubris?

We are Creators, as far as we’ve been told.

Perhaps we should not have been told,

if all we’ve done with our presumed title

is attempt a retelling or reality through

postponing death. All because

we want so desperately to be like

that Great Maker so great he made makers.

I am not a painter.

"Will this be on the test?"

The question: innocent, not at all inviting trouble,

the student: gleaming, full to the brim with interest.

The second repetition of that strange request

feels smaller, more hesitant, even fragile,

"Will this be on the test?"

They start to learn a new definition of stressed

from homework and lectures increasingly dull,

as grades and scores and resumes slowly replace interest.

And then it seems the student has become obsessed

(though suddenly the work is nearly double)

"Will this be on the test?"

Moving on, and they haven't even processed

the information pounded into their skull,

pushing out all memories of ever having any interest.

Then, after but a few minutes of respite, wrest

from the arms of a demanding schedule,

"Will this be on the test?"

Their eyes are glazed and the answer no longer holds interest.

I have stepped

on the couch

you said I

couldn't touch

because it’s white

and new and

I have

so much fur

I’m really sorry

I was just so 

excited to hear

you coming home

Some time has passed since we met last. What's changed after all these years?

I'm still the same; bitter and lame, the source of your angels' fears.

I'm sorry for you, honest and true, and wish I could do more.

No fault but my own. And now I'm alone. I never should have closed that door.

I'd have you back tomorrow if only it would stop your sorrow, but I'm afraid there's nothing to be done.

I knew it was so. I thank you though. For pity, I can turn to only one.

You'll find no pity from me, but I still wish you could be by my side once again.

I wish it too, I honestly do. Perhaps another time, then.

You were the best of them all. I hated to see you fall. But now you've fallen too far.

I look up at you think, it happened all in the blink of an eye.

I think it too, and still remember you. How sad to think it was goodbye.

I want to come back, until I recall what I lack. It's simply too much to overlook.

That may be true, certainly of you. Think also, of all that you took.

I know I was wrong. But now I can't change my song. I'm stuck and can't change my ways.

Even I can't change this, though truly I miss your company all these long days.

I've made my choice. I can't heed to your voice. The next time we meet, it will still be bittersweet. Nothing will change, I will still be estranged. And I'll still be so lonely, and still have only my memories of brighter and better days.

Footsteps, echoing

through empty rooms.

Foolish, for thinking themselves to be alone.

Laughter, at the edge of their hearing,

Or merely the wind?

Slam! The windows scurry shut.

C r e a k ! A door swung open without prompting.

bum-bum! Heartbeat racing.

Music? But who could stand to hear such eerie tones?

The neighbors, they think, have always been strange;

A prank, perhaps, or just strange tastes.

With such sound logic, none could protest,

Except for the heart beating in his chest.

Silence? The mysterious night settles down.

Investigation ensues, but all inquiries come up empty.

c r e a k , The door settles into place.

Howl! cries the wind, beating against the shutters

Shhh, whispers a voice not there a moment before.

Frozen, the heart stills and comprehends,

A beat it shall have no more.

"You'll never guess what happened today."

Silence occurs where a response usually follows.

"Guess you're not feeling very talkative today."

You won't admit that you're feeling so hollow.

"Anyway, I got best grade in my class. And you thought I'd fail."

The wind whispers as if to fill in for the voice that is no longer there.

"I got a sticker for it and everything."

Tears slip down your cheeks as you grit your teeth and say it's not fair.

"If you don't come to school soon, you'll never catch up."

A harsh wind stings your eyes, though you can't tell if it's the wind or the tears.

"Oh don't be like that. We've been talking about some pretty cool stuff."

The last thing you'll do is give in to your fears.

"Do you want to just sit? We can just sit."

You're walking through life trapped in a daze.

"I really miss you, you know. You're a jerk for leaving me like this."

And you spend all your time all alone with a grave.

A rigid square of expectations

A half-heartedly given education

Conforming to the population

Held back by the limitations

You've broken the square and people stare

You've found your passion and become aware

That people today are hardly there

And that people today are never fair

They've beaten you down for not conforming

As if they want to make you a warning

This is what you get for not performing

Now they prepare you for the reforming

You try again and try in vain

Your words fall on deaf ears just the same

They want nothing to do with what's in your brain

Ignorance is the only way they can stay sane

Finally you give up; you're finally done

Your rebellion ended before it begun

Even though all it takes is a small number of one

The pressure is what made you come undone

A rigid square of expectations

A half-heartedly given education

Conforming to the population

Held back by the limitations