blank.
she sat waiting quietly.
staring at anything she could stare.
listening to everything she could hear.
blank.
among the crowd, she felt the blank inside of her.
a blank which could be crammed by something she never witnessed before.
she almost witnessed it.
but
blank.
she knew it. she knew it.
oh, blank.
she was blank.
and that was all she knew.
they were things that my lips could never say.
they were stories i was always afraid to tell.
they were the unspoken.
looking in the mirror,
is that really me,
short and curvy,
not tall and boxy.
beautiful,
not handsome.
feminine,
not masculine.
all i can think is,
is that really me?
Dog runs,
Dog jumps,
Dog chases,
Dog plays.
I watch the innocent pup
As she tumbles,
Tripping over a stone.
This bright, beautiful world!
She celebrates it with a bark.
A child chases her
And the child laughs.
I pray for them;
The innocence expressed
In their jubilation at life
Is what should be
At this time.
I stand quietly in the middle of the world
I look up to see the moon
A dusty ring is around it
If only I could capture to share
Share this moment with a future someone
The cold bites me through my jacket
Yet I stay
I can hear the horn of the train
The circle reminds me of a full rainbow
I think I can see hints of color in it
An unimportant moment at 1:45 am
Yet it helps restore my soul
I shall go in before I freeze
A brilliant smile,
To waste a while;
Staring at the sky
Wishing I could fly.
I stretch out my hand,
Take a deep breath, and
Think of the wonderful
Things I've done. Powerful
Plays, astonishing acting.
Despite my detracting.
I've loved, so much.
Not right, exit stage left.
I sit, to pick the memory apart –
it stares at me with a wrinkled heart:
yellow-strawed lofts and green summer scents
attack my withered countenance.
A pair of smiling faces, images of bliss
unfold out of a hike, a ride, a mother’s kiss.
I hear a sound, a river’s gurgling song –
children’s voices laughing pleasantly along.
Like color and taste, I have no firm measure
of comparing this vision of distant pleasure
with reality. I must admit adorned perception
a stage of unacknowledged self-conception,
and store the memory in a mindful place
that only I can touch, and taste.
Water rushes far
Over edge of horizon,
Falling to soft mist.
Water flowing long
From mountains to below limit,
Pooling harmony.
Sleep is the water
River sand in eyes,
River stone eyelids.
Wet whispers echo
Telling stories in dry voice,
The story goes here:
"A boy swam here once
Lovers met here long ago,
Nourished were they all."
Sleep rushes over
Silence brings happiness,
Silence brings sadness,
Silence brings calm,
Silence brings rage,
Silence brings concentration,
Silence brings confusion,
Silence brings peace,
Silence brings chaos,
Silence brings wisdom,
Silence brings arrogance,
Silence brings knowledge,
Silence brings forgetfullness,
Silence brings relaxation,
Silence brings stress,
Silence brings strength,
Silence brings weakness,
A man who tells early is insane.
A man who tells late is a fool.
A man who tells at the right time is gifted the most precious gift that a man can hope to gain:
A heart in a cage.
But in this gift a curse his most precious possession he must give:
A heart in a cage.
A man open is vulnerable, but free from the weight of armor.
A man closed is impenetrable, but burdened by the shell he carries.
A man careful is safe, but is able to experience the pains that he will:
A heart in a cage.
But in this balance a place for a companion:
A heart in a cage.
A man who is brave is a lover.
A man who is safe is a guardian.
A man who is pained is a companion more than any other:
A heart in a cage.
The scorching heat.
The chafing winds.
The grinding sands.
The rushing of a river.
A single drop, the water of worlds.
A gentle mist of wind.
A softness of skin.
A burning of strain.
Pool the blood, the source of life.
Carving of flesh.
Breaking of bone.
Living of death.
To suffer and to solace, both to live and to die.
The darkness at times
seems to be self originating
the four corners of an idea
the wrinkles pressed gently out
and in the tears, revel in the physicality of it
The light, as the darkness, is consumptive
ever-flowing and iridescent
softly caressing the soul and through, the body
If never knowing the light
how could you say the darkness has meaning
And so as the shadow comes into meaning by the light
so too does the brightness find relevance
in the grayscale of feeling