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run wild
Run wild
That was the motto
Of course it didn’t address
running wild
in the streets
and away from angry shopkeepers
and the police
and rival gangs
and betrayed friends
It all starts with a
run from responsibility,
evading reality
“Think you
can live like that?” father had said.
“Go ahead and try. C’mon, not
like you’re of any
use round here. Go!”
He went
and the years have passed and
he was never missed
But tonight he would return
with a couple of
friends
some rope
and a few sharp objects
A dim light was flickering in the kitchen
meaning the old man
would be at the table with a belly
heavy with drink
and a head light with fumes
So not much changed
"Well, let's go."
I Knew Then, I Know Now
When you looked me in the eyes
There was no sparkle in your soul
I knew then, I know now.
You don’t look at me no more
You don’t love me any more
I knew then, I know now.
When you didn’t visit last night
When I slept all on my own
I knew then, I know now.
When Mako and Maya whimpered
When you didn't merge from your retreat
I knew then, I know now
When you didn’t return my calls
When you didn’t answer the door
I knew then, I know now
When you didn't leave a note
When you didn’t say goodbye
I knew then, I know now
I can’t seem to hold you close
I can’t seem to let you go
I knew then, I know now
You were never coming home.
Warning Shot
Cold metal never solves anything,
The piercing eyes say as a hand
Gently rubs his leg and a voice
Begs him under the words spoken.
She didn’t know yet, but soon,
The world would finally hear them.
“Shame we have to do this.”
The words were cold and heavy.
The piece adjusted, his eyes squinted.
Shots rang out, then the sirens and tires
Simultaneously appeared from nowhere.
The cold metal was now hot lead,
And hot lead is often a problem solver.
Maze of Me
My mind is a tidal wave of thoughts, roaring over the heavy roads until at last the engine dies. They trigger me like a gun without the bullet, observing my reaction, its damage insignificant to those around me. I am not wounded by sight, yet I feel crimson stains beneath my skin.
I am sad, I think. And yet I smile.
I am happy, I know. Yet saltwater slides over my cheeks.
Will the mind’s perplexities ever be understood as they intertwine and dig deeper into the pit of my subconscious? Thoughts hold blind control over me. I am merely the fallen apple in Newton’s theory, reacting to the forces around me. The cause of my actions reaches to my conscious, begs me to understand my own reactions.
Yet I falter in the maze of my mind. Forever I am a mystery to myself.
Sorrow
They say sorrow floats
So I put mine in boats
And float it away –
Couldn’t bear it to stay.
You can’t drown sorrow though
As the records all show
If you drink to forget
You’ll remember it yet.
When I float it away
It will come back one day
Often worse than before
Beating down my mind’s door.
So there’s no other way
Face your sorrows today
Deal with each one by one
’Til your sorrows have gone
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6gG5AdGWnVU
I posted this about 4 months ago, but it is appropriate for this challenge, I think.
Meditation
People, animals
flowers and trees
all created equal
existing to grow to be
see them, hear them
feel them
gently close your eyes
and just sit still
there’s no need to travel
breathe deeply in and out
rest your body
leave your worries behind
escape for just for a while
listen to your heart's rhythm
hear the melody of your inner song
quiet meditation just for you
awaken your soul
cleanse your spirit
and sharpen your mind
unlock power you never imagined
discover who you are
what you really need
find yourself in life’s abyss
meditate
and fill your heart
with eternal bliss!
Why We Write
We sit, we type
some might even say
we writers sometimes write
Observation,
contemplation
about the world we share
often daunting and painful
it is what writers bare
Our words - albeit true
are not always dark and bleak
we writers sometimes write
of love and the hope we seek
Why we write
perhaps we are not sure
for a poets heart
is nothing less than pure
With a Heavy Heart
She wanted to write fiction. Fantasy, sci-fi...anything else. But all she could write was her truth. All that connected her to the world, to others, seemed to be her pain. That story about being a young girl, her mind so much more developed than her body, and her friend's father...touching her in ways that made her feel strange. Confused and hurt yet not hurting. Not at first, anyway. That was popular.
And then the story about the boy in high school. Who followed her to her afterschool babysitting job. Touching her in that same way, but rougher, more insistent. Who did things to her that she had learned about in health class. She told her mother, and her mother made her quit her job. The guilt and shame...it never went away. That story was popular also.
In fact, all the stories about her body being used, abused. Beaten and brutalized. All of those stories were popular. It hurt so much to write them. It was confusing how people enjoyed reading them. As if she hadn't lived them. As if they hadn't been real. And maybe, that was exactly the problem. Maybe it all sounded made-up. Like fiction. So people transformed her tragedy to her creativity in their minds.
But every word was real. And she lost the desire to feel. So she lost the desire to write. She couldn't write anything else...the only thing that wanted to be released was her sadness. Her emptiness. Her lonliness. Her desolation.
After a while, her tears stopped forming words. Her mind stopped trying to process the pain. But she kept living through story after story. When she was writing, the experience was like a bullet to the heart and the story...that was the exit wound. Once she stopped writing, she was still getting shot...but now there was no exit wound. They lived inside, infecting her. Brought her to the point of no return.
The last thing she ever wrote was her suicide note.
"With a heavy heart, we gather here today..."
Ethereal Stowaway
I miss you
My door is ajar as
I feel your bitter absence.
With a cast of the die,
your shadows hide behind
radiant moon,
slapping spokes of the stars.
My hammer pounds
your transparent presence -
I try to touch
wisps of smoke in winter.
You are a ghostly stowaway
hanging onto my pants leg
as I fluff pillows
with dreams
of fleeting apparition.
I reach up
to feel your mist
and play the piano
of your soul
as your spirit
vacantly stares.
Stuck between floors,
I exist for what was -
your footprints wafting
just out of my sight.
I shiver forlornly
remembering
breaths of our past
as bare feet patter
down an empty hallway -
a wraith who can only offer
a cup of empty.
I miss you as my tears
fall into yesterday.
Plucking your tunes
from your absent sky
I vacuum away
my sorrows of our past
holding your hand
until you fall
into the deepest sleep.
Translucent winds’ dance,
bathing your skin.
I pray to hear your words,
I miss you, too!