Mr. Blue
A few months back, there was a challenge to personify the ocean or water or something along those lines, (I don't remember which) without using "water" words. I didn't realize it was a poetry-only challenge until after I had written it, so here it is.
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Good old Blue,
Next to my dingy old shack, Mr. Blue has outlived everyone on Quaker's Creek.
God rest his soul, the old man is a quiet one most times with a dark sense of humour.
I keep watch over him as he does his daily business. Marine Lodging, I believe he does. I don't believe he's ever gotten a degree or a license for it, though, and that's a bit fishy to me.
Mother always said never to trust a man who's eyes changed with his emotions, and Mr. Blue's certainly fit that bill.
When he's happy, they're bright blue; a little foggy when he's tired. When upset or angered they match the stormy grey skies. Sometimes green, and when mellowed almost see through.
He's a quirky fellow, that Mr. Blue. I've never seen someone run up and down the sand without ceasing, waving at us, day in and day out. He's got a terrible sense of "personal space". Especially at night, he tried to move the property lines during his daily runs. His wife Luna, usually lets him cause trouble for the other owners at night.
Those two like to wash out the land right under you!
Some pals, they are.
Famous? I think so. Everyone seems to love to visit them, personally, I just want my land back and - "Hey! Move back my property line!"
Iron Hot
"Hate's a strong word."
Yes, yes it is.
It's quite patronizing of you to say, since if you knew people like me better, you'd know those words aren't used lightly.
I hate to hate people,
but there are those who've come dangerously close.
Plus, why is hate seen as such a bad thing? It's on the other side of the coin shared with love, right?
[Though, I'm not saying it's something to be proud of either.]
Indifference is what's truly scary;
for if you've crossed that line,
you no longer exist.
Hate, is like a burning anger that refuses to leave and instead burns a hole in your stomach like acid. Unforgiveness can be brushed under the carpet (for a time at least), but hate is loud, clear, and in your face.
Hate is vile and putrid and breeds contempt and spite amoungst people. Like yeast, it spreads amoungst the masses before they've become aware of that which they've been infected with.
It's blinding.
Becoming such a routine that you don't realize it's become a tumor in your soul, sucking the life and meaning out of you and your conversations.
Until it's too late.
I hate to hate people because in the end,
I'm the one affected by its poison.
Hate is not natural; it's a disease.
Single Drop .03
We lost a lot of good people that day.
The count, in the end, was 300; servants, soldiers, the young 5-year-old prince, and the King. I hadn't asked for the number of the enemy's deaths. I hadn't cared.
Uncle's eye scar is still visible; raw and just beginning to heal and Mother... I don't even know where to start with her.
Mother had refused to take over the Kingdom and Uncle was a general at heart. So I became King.
That day, not only had my hands become dirty but so had my heart as well.
Single Drop .02
We heard the screams then. Uncle and I left swords drawn and I warned the boy to turn out the light and hide.
"Don't come out for anything, you hear?" I struggled to keep my voice even.
With fear in his eyes he nodded weakly and ran in between the foliage. Silent as a lamb.
I shut the door and came face to face with a dead handmaiden. Several more were lying around the hallways. I retched in shock and then composed myself as my training had dictated.
Sophie, the head maid grabbed me and I nearly lopped off her head. So much for calming my nerves, I thought. She lead Uncle and I through the secret tunnels in the walls in a rush to the throne room.
Barbarians were fighting the knights and Father stood in front of Mother, deeming to protect her to the last breath. And as I rushed forward, I saw it was indeed to the last.
"Father!"
The man behind him had shoved the Queen and like a coward had killed him without honor.
I cut down men to get to him and with a burst of strength I knew not that I had, I struck the killer in the belly.
With a grit not my own, I spat, "Take this you groveling monster!" Hot tears ran down my face.
And though I kept fighting to clear the castle clean, everything seemed to dull around me. My hands and feet moved on their own as my training had taught me. A slash here, a thrust there. It was vivid, yet everything was in a haze. I couldn't understand it.
None of my external injuries could compare to the agonizing ache in my chest. I couldn't breathe, yet I could.
It was too much.
Single Drop .01
It all started with a single drop.
The water dripped down our chins as we pulled our faces out of the water. Henry III, my brother, stared up at me a look of hope on his small face and we laughed deep chuckles like our father.
After having caught him accidentally drop his ring gifted to him by Mother, we had searched the large pool-like tub. "Eureka!" he cried out upon finding it.
He had lain a dark blue towel across the bottom of the jewel encrusted tub and was playing with his ships when he had dropped it, so the small "Captain" returned to his mighty fleet. He told me stories of grand sailors and of his "crew" - his stuffed animals Grandmum had bestowed upon him on his 2nd birthday.
I pulled out the soaked towel and squeezed, then tosses it over the nearby sink.
Uncle Aindreas came in and we told him of our grand tales and how we would be mighty in our adventures together.
Oh, how naive we were then.
On ...Adulthood
I've never stopped dreaming.
Long after those around me put aside their hopes and fantasies for a reality that none thought to question or change - I did.
My greatest fear: will the child me die so that adult me can be born as the world around me expects? Must I sacrifice dreams, hopes, and ambitions on the altar of adulthood in order to mean something and make a change? To be... A real adult?
I refuse.
I won't let the thoughts of others, the bondage of "stability", be what drags me down.
I haven't held on to my ideals and thoughts for this long, crafted them in fine detailing, just to toss them on the wayside.
The 7-year-old me would be crushed if I did and I can't let her down now. My life is just beginning and this boulder is just getting started up the hill.
I huff and I puff and I push with my strength to move the boulder up the hill.
If I don't like the ways things are, yet don't do anything, those after me will be forced to take this burden that wasn't their's to take alone.
Ha!
Not on my watch.
Night Thoughts
I'm tired.
It's night, the after hours... [what truly defines the after hours since everything is "after-hours"?].
But then the firing synapses are struck and alight up this mind that so desperately wants to sleep.
*Hmph*
Where were all of you bright ideas and thoughts early in the dawn and morning hours? Why couldn't you have woken me up or spoken up when I had paper and pen in hand?
Cheeky in the beginning; cheeky until the end.
Sheesh, if only I could record the good tidbits in moments more tiresome where the muse strikes best.
Now to sleep...Or not.
Lack and Discrepancy
Empty words.
Deathly silence, loud as the Big Apple's core
A mind, once known to carry the secrets of the universe, depleted with time and insufficient energy.
A heart that feels no pain, no joy; icy stone to the center.
Disconnect.
Wherever there once was, but now isn't, "nothing" cries loudest.
Maybe that's why our current world is in so much pain; it's only a shadow of what it once was...
“I’m Fine.”
[Technically I've already posted this, but I'm new to this site and haven't quite figured out all of its quirks yet.]
"I'm fine."
My life is like the drought, now turned to floods - due to unforeseen abundance, my dam's cracks are showing through.
I was not prepared for this.
My walls, up for years keeping out the pain and the noise.
That somehow always found a way to filter through.
Like the ants that crawl through unseen cracks and are silently invading winning the battle but not the war; I am the house that crumbles with their march.
"I'm fine."
These words are unspoken, but my body language and eyes tell it to those around, "I'm fine. I'm good."
But the thoughts... the internal remains conflicted!
When will you see me!? When will you ask the real questions and the meaningful things? When will I not have to tiptoe around issues that I know most of you are too afraid to make yourself see?
These things were never meant to be taken on alone.
Life never was made that way. We were meant to do this together.
"I'm fine."
My outside - impenetrable, like the walls of Great Jericho
Will you have the perseverance and faith to see what's behind them and march until they come down?
Or, am I not worth that much of your time?
The truth is, it's a two-way street.
It's unfair for society to give us these questions, that no one's expected to truly answer. But that's okay. I've never been one for the old ways.
I'll break down these walls myself. I built them, and these crafter's hand will bring destruction to what they've built, because if you won't come to me - I'll just build the bridge to you.
"I'm...ready to have a conversation. Let's talk."