I could not tell you what it is that I lack. A permissible virtue is a phrase I’d rather adopt than bother to learn. To an extent, it could just be laziness. Caving to the effort, not wanting to put in the time. I dream to flutter in the air with my parent’s handcrafted wings. As I float, guilt consumes. A spoiled little brat, I surely am when riding on the backs of those who I damn. By the direction of the wind and tightness of my chest, I’ll desperately swirl to wherever I am not. I cry for a hand that I battered away only moments ago. I feverishly beg to twirl as I plunge like the colorful lifeless leaves that I watch from my four-pointed fabric-covered metal box. I’m looking to the stars in need of help, but I at least know now that they burn bright no matter the time of day. It’s all just a silly wheel I turn as I try to reinvent.
Life is like an unhatched egg. Peck peck. The casing starts to give and the light of day forces its way through.
Hello love, the ray says to the chick as it peeks a glance outside. With one beady eye molding to the unsealed gel, its pupil transfers sheer white to a universe.
What does it see? Life. Waves crashing on sandy beaches. Tall pines on guard for the other. Views from heights that once only dragons would dare venture to witness.
Alone? Never. The seagulls squawk with the high tide. The squirrels chatter in a disjointed symphony. He holds your hand as you press against the airplane plastic window.
This, this life that we are, is everything. Everything. And so, with a guiding push, the chick emerges from its damaged shell. It basks in that light as other senses join the fun.
It smiles to match the sun and lets go of all that it hasn't won. It re-enters as a new babe with only regret for the delay.
In this absolute peak, the height of existence as I see it, the spell caster grabs his wand. Waving it around in its silent hiss, this chick shall be an egg. And the moment becomes something I eventually remember to reminisce.
And before that accidental peck happens again, silent I unknowing remain.
Watching dreams manifest, lifeguards off duty climb their throne. Ascending to the sky, they balance and shift as the photographer settles into position.
Climb. Climb you little brats. My queer thoughts mangle from a viewer’s pose.
You good for nothing, beautiful stuck-up children. Daddy’s money built you into dazzling shape I’m sure.
Let this day stand still as the motion picture film finds its next reel. Hold this moment dear. Grab those anchored souls you call family and widen your lips. Watch the light capture and let out a holler as others synchronize the muddled choir.
I turn towards the ocean and wonder if you remember the way we fought. Like seagulls picking at scraps.
Chuckles overlap as a live demonstration takes place. They peck at a long drowned fish caught in the desert that rests beside its endless home.
The grass is always greener. I cock back in laugher at the rotting remains.
There’s hope in us. I’ll usually think after some time. Sliding through memories, the motion speeds up as a movie unfolds.
We sit, nearly holding our breath. I ask for your hand, and your wink nudges me on. At that moment you warmed my terrified soul and I knew I didn’t need to be alone.
The lifeguards are now running past. Unaware of all but their moment that will never be forgotten. I’m first cruel to their touch. It’s like spikes ripping apart my moment. And why is yours better than mine!
As I fume, I also settle down. Their touch is actually quite warm.
To add to my point, in the photo they will hang on their polished wood walls, or be trashed all the same, they’ll see someone just off to the left. A speck of alien existence, yet present nonetheless, sitting in an observing fashion.
We are connected, I exhale into my lap. By then and now. As well as us and them.
When deliberately addressed, fear grips you by the throat as you fail in vain to express yourself. Denial is always your first step for the things you tell yourself are not so. The game of blame will be tossed around in order to juggle the burden of who said what how. But direct my finger shall go, pointed at the depths of all that you know. I have a message for you, for you who keep notes on the other watchers alike. For this innocent war, driven by then in order to never again become now, to be smothered. To extinguish the flame that only grows as you look at it. My wisdom to share is a simple one. Trust yourself
To those who watch and watch I begin by wondering, why do you have so many layers? Is it your superior complexity as your ego shall subtly suggest, or is life just a game of tag? One with infinite ways to go, and so, you develop the sight because of how far you could not run when your demons came screaming, you’re it!
Learning from the experience, you told yourself no more. You watched where others went in order to never be caught again. In this quest, as time goes on, you eventually found a difference between right and wrong. But I go back to my alleged wisdom and ask, have you forgotten that seeing and looking are nothing alike?
I think another analogy shall suffice. One day, probably long ago, you sat in your beautiful little home. Designed and decorated to your liking, your paradise was full of light as the gentle sun rays glided through your widows and illuminated your rooms. With a soft breeze cooling the house to your liking, you would find yourself at ease as you knew you were safe. But then one day, as these stories normally go, a storm came knocking. Blowing rain and violent winds throughout the house, your beautifully designed decor became a ruined, wet mess. In haste to preserve what you could, you closed every window and pulled the shades. Neighbors eventually came to check on your disgrace and you quickly learned to turn them away and lock the door in place. Shielded from the world in your cocoon, as you tried to rebuild with what is left, independence is something we find ourselves getting better at with age. But how do I distinguish the fine line of watchers watching watchers? How do I poke this particular case? It’s to say that you close this house but have a room made of glass. Just a spot, separate from the rest where you can see all and it can see you. Vulnerable as it may seem, partial is shall always endure. And on this line is where I place my reassurance, you have so much more you can be.
Picture me as one who has been to your front door, not the side door made of glass. I knock lightly and await your response. Of course, you being you will instead insist that I am at the wrong door, but I know better. And you know that I know better. So I knock and maybe giggle in anticipation, but after some time I smile and leave you a note. The day ends and when all other eyes are closed you walk to that front door and unfold my little letter. Hi. You don’t have to answer the door for me, I get it, I honestly don’t even know if I could open it for you. But I just wanted to remind you where your front door is. I just wanted to remind you that you don’t have to keep running from the past. And I wanted to let you know that you can trust yourself, you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. So I guess I just suggest that you open the windows and let in some fresh air. It’s not always storming and who knows, you may just catch a fleeting sunny day.
Do you remember the time when you thought everything would be forever?
You don't realize how amazing it is to be free until you are not.
Privileged we remain until the hands of life close around our throats.
As we gasp for air, struggling to breathe, we begin to sink.
Down to the ocean floor, our sight can not adjust to this darkness.
Sea creatures come to life, changing despair into fright.
You forget what you even are, you look at your hands, you’re old.
But you can't see, you can’t see down there, not as you did before.
In those lungs remain your last good breath of air,
last taken on the beach, during your childhood fun.
However, you didn’t always play,
you were such a silly kid.
Sometimes you'd cry in the sand and ask for more,
oh boo hoo, why me?
What good could you do with sand on your feet,
scorching your toes, the cooling water is all you knew to dream.
As you look around, out to the sea, you envy their ability to go out and “swim”,
as they explained to you,
as they told themself.
Yet what you didn't understand was that you were just looking at
the buoys of their anchored souls,
you saw,
you saw bouncing inflatables
rocking in the waves as you think they are cheering you on.
An ocean crashes on the beach and you hear their applause
waving back at you!?!
Those inflatable arms wiggle high, free of mind, take to the sky!
You think that you need more so you keep asking
so maybe you swim out to the sea to be heard,
or to get a closer look.
Something's not right, those with wit will find,
you notice the chain that leads directly down,
and where they're still sinking without a sound.
You wonder why.
I tried to pull them up
I say, “listen, come here”
“Please come here, just come and breathe”
if you're so kind, you demand, “Oh please, oh please”.
But you don't understand dear,
one day you'll be among them,
don't you see,
you'll be the one waving to the youth,
as you remain,
bound by the sea.
I can’t remember when I took my last breath of fresh air. Or the moment that the crickets stopped chirping. The morning that the sun rose without a rooster’s crow.
I can still see the tadpoles we’d catch. The murky water we’d wade in as the adolescent amphibians circles our legs.
Do you remember the time you reached out too far? Losing your balance, you twisted towards me in desperation. Your hands thrown in the air in a half-witted attempt to right your misstep, I know you’d fall. Yet how couldn’t I try?
I took your contorted body into my arms, trying to hold your weight against mine. Gravity had its own agenda. As the forces of nature brought us down upon the muddy water, the pond took us as its captives.
Surrendering to the pull I could not resist and letting chills run down my spine, the cold water chilled my eyes as I spent that moment looking at you. Laying there for a second longer than I would ever admit, with you just bubbles away and my arms enwrapped around yours, I smiled softer than I knew for my age.
However, captured you never remain. With you pulling us up, we gasped for air as the world once again became expansive and open. You looked at me, it was the first time I wanted to kiss you.
You erupted in beautiful laughter, and so I followed. It’s strange how we believe there are better days to come. That the movies of romance and love will also be our path. That heartbreak is only temporary as a greater reward awaits.
Maybe they do have some truth to them. Those stories we tell ourselves. And maybe the movies only tell stories worth telling. Maybe mine is simply not worth being heard.
I live in Seattle now. The rent isn’t cheap. I have a dog. Dallas, I call him. I last saw you two years ago. Down by the stream, that led to our pond. Our fountain of isolation. I sat and stared as the memories came back. The moments of ease we had, and the triumphs of that we caught. And then there you were. Just over the hill, on the far side, I felt your soul before I could recognize it. I stood, I really was going to run to you. Take your hands and ask the questions that I dreamed of you answering. But with my first step came my last. Over that hill, I saw another. Running with its half-grown legs, you turned and hoisted your daughter into the air. Bringing her up to the sunlight and back down into a cradle, you held her gaze with only love in mind. You looked to her, and then by your side, he too arrived. Of course he was there. Now holding you both. I watched you look up, into his beautiful hazel eyes. You held his gaze a second longer than you would ever admit.
In these fleeting seconds
When stars burn bright
I hold my breath
And watch you illuminate the night
Burning ablaze
You scorch the Earth’s surface
This rock that you explained once before
I pray that it doesn’t roll away
I picture our story
One only we are qualified to tell
A journey to one
Through all the carnage and hell
Decayed sunlight,
only shines during the day
Take my hand my love
I wouldn’t want it any other way
sometimes I hold chaos to my ear
I speak its riddles
and so it hears
the crooked trees bend with the wind
jagged and sharp
I cry without my heart
sometimes I see more that I'm allowed to
they shout so silently
bleed their every word
there's something wrong with the way it settles
my bowels rumble as it begins to digest
the reality of what is
it's cold out there
it's cold
frigid bones
I feel the spirits
even they are growing old
the ground is covered
debris and death alike
your broken ashes
are swept throughout the night
I can't feel
I can't feel the way I was
I don't know who I am
and what I've been
I don't know who I was
and where I've been
spirits take my soul
they let me bend like those trees
they let me shout silently at the night
death happens to us all
yet frightened we remain
the winds sure can howl
they can turn wonder
into deadly fright
so cold to the bone
your ragged limbs
you're rotten old
oh my God
I do not know
what is wrong!
I don't know, I don't know
they tell me, figure it out
I say I don't know how
they ask for more
of which I have
NONE!!
.
You hold grudges my dear
it's okay
I'm here
light is nothing but hidden darkness
and with that prophecy soon to be made
I sleep easy once again as a babe
There is someone I want. Someone I feel I need. She is all that I ask for. She is all that I crave. Her name… is Love.
Love traveled growing up. Never staying anywhere long enough to call home, Love embraced this world before she even saw the light in doing so.
Love is a dancer. A body poet whenever the mood is right; the world becomes a stage for her show. As she does, her body spells out the words my vocabulary is not so vast to contain.
Love is love. She gives without wanting anything in return. She smiles before wondering if she should. And she loves the world her reality is so beautiful to create.
So what do I do? How do I tell such perfection that my mortal self is worthy? Can I really take care of her as she will take care of me? Can a demon really give anything to an angel?
I don’t know. I tell myself, yes, and I tell myself no. It’s so hard. Living finite as you want it all. I am the apple of knowledge who desires to be eaten and cause sin.
Love, I love you. Can that be all? Can I believe in this until it is so? So many possibilities. So many potential issues. But I know better. For if it were someone else I would simply say,
“Be brave my friend. Jump with both feet, you shall go farther. And as you land in those unfamiliar waters, you will remember how to swim. I promise. You will be better than before. It will be better than before. Shall you fail? I haven’t the faintest clue. I don’t know the stories still unwritten. But shoot your shot, for you must before the clock has rung. Shoot your shot cause that’s truly the best we ever got”
Fault.
Such an unforgiving finger.
Never pointing far enough away,
we run from the direction
we ourselves set.
A standard we must learn to dodge.
Some of us have the fortune to do so,
the rest of us do not.
I wonder why we keep the finger where we do.
Why nobody seems to question
the degrees downward it points.
Isn’t fault just a construct?
An ignorance from recognizing
it can always go another step back?
For if it were universal as we think,
wouldn’t it be uniform as it be?
I suppose they are wrong,
but then so could we.
We blame and punish the sinners of our world.
For it is them,
and never me.
For they must fix all that they are,
and still
never me.
Fault is an interesting game.
One that I wish we played together.
One where we would simply say,
“We’re sorry.”
