Not finished
I walked through hell,
And found you on the other side.
There awaiting, my undead guide.
Who ever knew it would end up with me leading you,
Not you but I, knew what to do.
The emptiness inside,
I defeated it.
But then again, as this monster rears its fearsome head,
I wonder, did it ever really die,
Or simply slumber under watching eyes.
It's no longer empty that I feel,
But who's to know, maybe we aren't real.
Reality is what you make of it,
Perhaps apathy or rage filled fit.
Numb is an emotion,
Frozen waves in an ice filled ocean.
No darkness creeps, no being thrives,
No thoughts wander among lifeless lies.
We stand equal within this strange abyss,
The last two names on an unfinished list.
Ashes to ashes (edit)
I roll ash between finger and thumb,
My mind races but is mysteriously numb.
I look around, at the ashes of this city
My heart, my love, my life.
All gone, All gone,
I whisper.
Perhaps a flashing Phoenix might arise
And gleaming capture my deadened eyes.
Chase the dark with light, and
Relive me from this endless night.
A day later I return,
To look again as even the ashes burn,
Dry and dusty winds pass by,
Alone, Alone,
They whisper.
and If one man were to come along
These bones might rise up in song
but as for the flesh, departed long ago,
It finds no remembrance in the grips of sorrow.
Dark Hearts
She always told me she didn't care,
I didn't believe her, she was always so fair.
Despite her dark heart,
I think she loved me,
once.
I wasn't ready then,
so she left and found another.
But when I needed her, there she was,
attempting to fill the
blackened space
that reached to the edges of my shell.
But that in itself creates its own new hell.
Behind closed doors in the drunken dark,
She slaps me, calls me slut, and
sticks fingers down my throat.
Some twisted part of me enjoys it,
because loneliness is colder than the way she treats me in the dark.
What is this, i don’t even know.
I feel
high and low at the same time.
And yet, i am stuck between the two
experiencing neither,
one first then the other.
Flip
flop.
Fish on the dock.
light as a feather,
falling
Rocks beneath the water.
Its one of those days,
you know--
one where the clouds are dark and
almost blueish.
And suddenly,
rays of sunlight dance across the
water.
Just for a second the unnatural gleam of light
on a day meant only for wind;
chases the shadows from beneath the oak.
but then again, it is still a day destined
for clouds.
Blood soaked halls and falling walls
dance alongside the rotten sugarplums of what used to be
your ambition.
you used to be,
driven.
You were going places.
But then,
the devil crept in.
He came slowly,
unexpectedly.
And you liked it,
at first.
Until you didn't.
Until you couldn't understand the person you have become,
because you chose this.
You made it this way,
you could change,
but you wont.
Its still to tempting, the escape it provides.
For a moment, at least.
Gravity
I feel like I am falling apart,
as if the force of my own
gravity
can no longer
hold the
broken eggshells that are me
in one shape.
The alcohol can make me forget,
at least for a short while, I am no longer weightless.
It can only be described as a kind of---
mental disturbance.
Like an itch in the back of your brain that is
so;
bothersome,
that you have to
drink. eat. drink.
smoke.
Just to get rid of those
almost-voices snickering in the back of
your brain.
But the thing is,
those flickers,
they are what fill that empty space inside
your shell.
They are what makes you,
you.
I can no longer feel the force of my own gravity.
The clawing demons
force themselves through the lengthening cracks
of what used to be me;
Until I become what I wish so much
I could defy.
Until I become all that I despise.
To Break Through.
He just started talking, like I had known him for ages. Like I was the long lost friend that he just found. Like I knew what high school he went to, and which college. He just started talking. In reality, I didn't know him at all. I couldn't tell you what color his rather unruly hair was, or whose name meandered along his bicep. He did not make an impression. He simply existed as a monotone base, maybe a low G note, buzzing along next to me.
Most people bother me. EXPECIALLY the ones who talk a lot. But not this man. At first, the familiarity with which he carried on that highly one-sided conversation unnerved me, so I didn't really pay attention.
"I'm sorry, I can't recall your name." I finally gathered the courage to say.
He ignored me.
Everything about him was unremarkable. His shoes were off brand, along with his jeans and plain T-shirt. They were so boring that they must have been knock-offs of knock-offs. He camoflauged so well with his surroundings that I almost missed the one important thing about him. He wore a wooden bracelet on his left wrist, black with age and sweat. This one blemish upon his blase facade enlightened me. He was, in fact, not a stranger, but a person who looked a whole lot like one.
The best friend that suffered more than anybody should.
The homeless man on my doorstep.
The refugee in my backyard.
The child held hostage by school shooter after school shooter.
On second thought, he was a perfect stranger. I had never met this Messiah. He did not come with halo glowing, or trumpets shouting. He came creeping. He came crawling. He came weeping for the brothers and sisters he so desperately wanted to save. He came a strange man in an unexpected outfit, engaging in an unexpected non-conversation about something I can't remember.
Oh yes, I had run screaming away from him every chance I got because he represented all that was hard about the world, for there is nothing more difficult than breaking through the apathy.
Air Strike
Something hard is wedged between my shoulder blades. In my state of half woken groginess, I roll over, eyes still closed. The discomfort at my back fades away, but soon enough there is something else pushing into my body. I groan, wondering where I am and what is going on. All I can remeber is thinking Why is the sky falling? Then, blackness.
My neighborhood sits about me in waves of broken cement. Lead pipes twist up and out of the rubble like broken bones protruding from a broken body. Some of the pipes hemorhage sewage, spewing poop into the shit colored sky.
What happened here?
Who did this?
Where is our military?
I stand up gingerly, I am surprised that I escaped with such minimal injuries. I pick my way across the minefield of dead and smoking homes, occasionally seeing the bloated maggots of bodies protruding from their concrete prisons. I hurry past, trying to ignore the gruesome sights that I already know will haunt my dreams until death. Am I the only on left? As I continue my tour through this newly shaped world, bits and pieces of memory float back to me, messages in bottles thrown onto the beach by the churning waters of my mind.
First I remember the screams, then I remember the planes.
I remember the burning houses and children.
I remember running through the street, and I remeber looking up to see those great black carion birds circle, dropping shrapnel out of the sky.
Why is the sky falling? Because we made it fall on others for far too long.
Guilt
When is it enough?
The blame,
The avoidance,
the attempts to cover our deepest secrets,
our most fearsome sins.
When do we give up and admit
that we stand
guilty;
before nation and God.
Before our own souls.
When do we stop running from
our mistakes,
and take the effort to RISE;
for we must RISE,
as a bird of fire rises from ashes
to new heights.
When do we make the choice to
escape the cluches of Satan,
and choose to serves others,
rather than our selfish whims.
When will we remove our hearts of stone,
and stand unveiled before the crystal mirror.
#God #faith #guilty #questions #poetry