The Song of San Francisco
The bullet entered his right temple before the chorus of the song, his brains blown all over the street before he was even able to process the familiar melody he once loved.
No time to enjoy one of his favorite anthems, the bullet entering his skull almost exactly as the lyrics started:
"Baby, I'm going to change your world...." the singer started off.
The driver shook his head and turned the volume up.
***
He inhaled deeply, handed me the pipe, and blew out a great cloud of poisons and toxin.
It was my turn, I had become a little human shaped factory, puffing pollutants into the air from inside my lungs.
This methamphetamine was chemically rich and full of poison never meant to be smoked by a human being.
We heard the gunshots outside our tenderloin SRO room that cost us about 800 bucks a month
for a little coffin of a place with a tiny bed.
We smoked to make sure we didn't sleep. And to provide our own increasingly paranoid thoughts,
a new terrible urgency to be spoken with.
A machine gun spattering of words
that would flow in an endless barrage
of non-sequiters and misguided beliefs often conspiratorial in nature.
Ultimately, it would be a shared report of the constant pit of useless babble that was our lives.
We spoke until our jaws were sore
and our eyes felt dry and red
and our breath smelled rotten
like the room we were sitting in.
We heard the gunshots and assumed we were finally at war.
Then the song played out, and we stood up and started to gather our things, looking for something.
Everyone loved this song. It was clear the war was over and peace -
in a split second,
decidedly reigned upon the tenderloin.
We peered out the window
and we saw a man leaning forward
with half of his head all over the place in a car.
A man wad smoking a cigarette in the front seat with one foot on the ground, door wide open.
He turned the music up louder.
The war was over.
We had no idea what was next, and we smoked and smoked because we didn't want to know.
Certainly, the tide would change
there outside of the window.
And our money was nearly gone.
Soon, it would be us in the war-torn streets.
The Creature Lies
I look forward, yet I cannot see. Although reflected, I am blind to reality. I stare into myself, a stranger; this face is not a passerby or someone I will ever meet on the street. A stranger, I think, yet I am intimately familiar with her without ever having truly met her. The creature of my existence who puppeteers this stranger hides inside us, hiding behind the mirror. I look unto her in admiration, but the beast whispers lies until she is warped and misshapen. I am filled with disgust and must avert my eyes, turning away from the stranger who has become impossibly foreign despite my laying eyes on her everyday.
“She is the beast,” it whispers. “She is a creature of misfortune and misery. You must get rid of her.” It clutches onto my very being and digs its claws into the essence of my existence, flooding the train with thoughts of despair and messages of hate.
As time passes, it becomes quiet. The creature is pleasant. It’s always been pleasant to most strangers, but it wasn’t to her even though she’s the stranger we’ve known since the start of time. I’ve come to convince it. Granted it took time, but as the silence billows about the train, the creature is calm. It sees something it doesn’t like but has learned to forgive the stranger; forgive her for the skin she was born into, forgive her for the bones that make up her physique. I offer a soft smile to the creature in appreciation.
The stranger is her own undoing and salvation synchronically, but she couldn’t have known over the sound of the beast’s writhing and whispering. I sit across from her as the sun rises behind us and stare into myself. I do not avert my eyes, but offer a sigh. She is a stranger I am intimately familiar with, and I find myself becoming more fond of her each time we sit together in silence. We can only look at each other in the same instance, but that is enough to find her eyes and tell her it is okay as the creature quietly agrees.
The Dream is Yours
All roads lead to death.
Travel whichever one makes you happy, and fuck the rest.
It‘s all a lesson, without a test.
Don’t let the pressure of the world,
Rob you of your last breath.
Another‘s journey can never be yours,
Just do your best.
Soon comes the end,
One blink and it’s over.
Is it all but a dream?
Living to wake up.
Dear Mom,
I can not put your love into words
And the more I learn of your past
The more I realize
That I didn’t know you
Not really
You were able to see the depths of my soul
While I barely scratched the surface of yours
I would do anything to have one more day…
One more hour…
One more minute…
To see you again
You were stronger than I knew
braver than I could comprehend
Wiser than I wanted to believe
If God is unconditional love
Then I must admit
That I would have trouble
Distinguishing you from the Lord
A Message To Death.
Oh Death i know you will come and take me away,
But the memories of me will be with my close friends to stay,
I have no fear if you were to come,
As my love will be always there for my loved ones,
Your the part of life where there is no running from,
Yet their still beauty inside you which no one can fathom
#poetry #Life #motivation #inspiration #quotes.
©Alipoetry, All Rights Reserved.
Between the Lines
Each story starts
with just two lines,
in pink
inked
on a stick;
developing an image
in the dark
of mother’s crib —
where spiritual is present
as the body,
formed of flesh,
hides
future sight
from vision
’til it stretches, thin, the mesh —
&
through the window pane,
we fall
like Alice
down the hole,
to chapters
that were written
before eyes
covered
our souls.
Purpose pens the plots,
each path,
(the author
yields free-will
in every choice
between the lines:
heartbeat
to limb leads
still).
’Til deja vu,
a bookmarked page,
illustrates
what’s been,
and destiny
reads right to left,
beginning
from the end.
Heavy Hearts
God wrote of eternity
and placed it in our hearts
perfect love that drives out fear
a light within the dark
So enemies of his and ours
distort the truth and fire
shadows formed in silence
twisting heavenly desires
The longing for security
beyond the other side
where all the evil, pain, and tears
are washed in crimson tides
Will always be a part of us
as long as time remains
but, sanctified, each thought we have
yields grace in Jesus’ name
The power over each deceit
a plumbline to his throne
where every lie meets its defeat
until he calls us home
