Tag Archives: Brendon Behlke

To a Life with You

When I breathe, I am sated
               the air is sweet
When I see, I am humbled
               the world is vibrant
When I eat, I am sustained
               each meal is a banquet
When I listen, I am enthralled
               always there is music
When I feel, I am excited
               the texture is capricious
When I live this life with you
               I am truly alive
                              all is full of love.

Reunion

After a time the road hides behind errant thoughts
an oasis of purpose beyond the skyline
just past the formless landscape in which I am caught
anxious sand etching the mind where they are confined
somewhere a destination waits for my return
decades away, or two hundred twelve miles by the sign.

Though the same vowels and numbers and stories were taught
the language we speak will never again align
casualties to the war of innocence still fought
despite knowing that both sides had long since resigned.
In the ashes of conflict, fragmented, I yearn
to take all those hardships and render them benign.

A Flag Flipped at Half Mast

Roughly hewn bold shoulders pierce clouds
hearing through the soft cotton of the sky
in an eternal attempt to deny
the cost which time at length enshrouds
a history of chaos caught in contortions
the passing days a gentle rain in the ocean

Where the transient will see might
the ageless will recall violent trauma
millions of years in tectonic drama
to break the skin with vicious spite
resigned to the cosmos. Never to move again
until at last these same forces push them to their end.

They quake with anticipation
an unbearable anxiety
that brings them within reach of piety
at the expense of damnation
the earth a parchment on which will be writ its dirge
should the progenitor finally emerge

By the time that day came to pass
the monster spoke with fire now set free,
“I give to the world what it took from me,”
buried it in molten and ash
then, at last, returned to the earth from which it came
never knowing it had itself to blame.

Catacombs

We made tunnels beneath the trenches
convenience saddles convenience.
Innovations bound to conflicting desires,
duty ever at the throat of survival;
a war all its own.

Dead sounds, all around
digging impatiently
stopping only briefly to hear
past the heavy breathing
the tremors from outside and within
beyond the fear; listening
for digging.

Somewhere down here
another crew exists
just like our own;
different uniforms
but always like us,
digging, listening.

I can’t help but hope
are they as afraid as we?
will their resolve snap
like a taught frayed rope?
I echo the answer known.

Either way we wind up here
on our backs, peacefully
or on our feet, terrified and blind
holding a thread bare hope
that they aren’t like us.

Listening,
I hear rhythmic pounding
muffled by earth
geography, culture, language
until it stops…
listening
for us, for me-
this translates easily.

We start again in unison
clawing at the earth feverishly
to end this,
to put it behind or above us
stopping only for a hint of a moment.
every few feet we calibrate on the other.

The dirt between us feels lighter now
easier to swallow
forgiving where we cannot be.
The tension between us is metaphysical.
Two fingers almost touching
between sandcastle walls.
It is ocean waves grasping at the shore
hidden depths haunting the water’s surface.

When our pickaxe breaks through
there is a moment of metallic harmony
a crashing of symbols.
Sparks fly like a flash of summer light in the dark
the perfect place to meet.

The tunnels are too small to stand in
too dark to see
too cramped to breathe,
it is struggle enough to kill another
but this close to hell
beneath the war
it is all the world’s anxiety, despair, and cruelty
rabid; unleashed. Some die. Some go on digging.
all remain buried.