Tag Archives: existentialism

Please

Tell me
               what I’ve done means something
               I’ve still got time
               it will get better

Tell me
               the weather outside is nice
               love is enough
               the worst is behind us

Tell me
               those I love won’t ever feel like this
               their futures are bright and limitless
               I’ll die before I see their end

Tell me
               anything that will keep me going
               that you mean it
               to trust you
make it sound genuine.

Weighted

Familiar streets look new tonight
the day drowning in the west
a thin layer of moonlight opposed
holding everything down
heavy

The self – a body of whispers
bound in loose threads of thought
woven around tooled cotton
emptiness made a fool,
a caricature of substance
like a corpse on strings
dripping with the life inside
desperate for an end
or at least something to catch what is left.

Gordian Knot

They say [no words could describe] the world beneath
spawning [this terror I feel] deep within me
corrupting [where the soul abides] into blaspheme
the dark heart [tearing through the walls] with savage teeth
rips through me [to find what’s inside] to excise it
let feral things see [and devour it all] before my eyes
consuming me [until all that is left] are my cries,
yet even that sound [is a hollow call] I can’t commit.

My remains are sent [out to the darkness] to retire
like a bat [searching for an echo] in the vacuum of space
if I could divine [some sound to harness] I’d leave this place
but all that’s left [in the loud silence] is my desire.

Outside [there is no response] I delve within
Where [the sound inside died] art was made
becoming a kiss [just past my lips] and falls on the heart
which once had thought [there’s no life outside] where it had been.

A Threshold

Something has changed the sounds out here.
They phase out and then reappear
like vagabonds in the frontier.

Breath itself, a labored chore
an anchor pulled across the sea floor
not wanting to move anymore
though unable to interfere

Wayward eyes will find no relief
lost amongst the constant mischief
the world apt to abuse belief
real and absurd defined ‘unclear.’

The smell of the place reaches deep
like a fog over the throat that creeps
finding fetid remains to reap
the scent of one’s end always near.

You can feel the hostility
hidden like electricity,
tangible curiosity,
tamed only when engineered

Senses reel back from the attack
all becoming abstracts or black
flesh hacked away by well-aimed flack
the mind, a shattered chandelier.

Darkness then takes you by the hand
drags you out before that big band
desperate teeth pushing words through wasteland
“There is nothing for us to fear!”

The Frontier

It waits for us in the forest
festering amongst the trees
the patient infection subdued;
an evil one seldom sees.

The oak and the pine sound anxious
ardent wind ignores their cries
wrapped around the best like ivy
searching us with ivory eyes.

We carved the beast from bone remains
rooted out from bloodied fields
tooled to honor those we slaughtered
resigned to stay safely sealed.

Time gifts the beast greater power
posturing it for the war
in which we had been the monsters
killing for land and much more.

Our victory in the battle
baneful for all that is good
gifted us unfounded wisdom
while our death waits in the woods.

The Orphan Bound to Steps

Standing against the crowd like river rocks
gears whirring in a clock with hands outstretched,
static against motion,
his eyes are loud against deafening stock
herding towards boxes and locks that pay well
sapping their emotions.

The boy is alone swallowed by the swarm
a cold drop in warm water unnoticed
soon enough devoured
falling to the ground prone, beneath the storm
trying to conform, become safe like stone.
I left him there cowered.

I left part of me there as well
both of us settling into hell.

Melting

A pool of water on the floor
reflecting fractured porcelain
I had not ever seen before.
Footsteps like tears lead out the door
taking with them my oxygen.

Who is it that has found this place
my sad forest of broken things?
Who takes lazy steps with such grace?
Do they know what the night will bring
that bleak and haunted carapace?

Surely, they know not of those ghosts,
or they would not ever have come,
I think and follow their breadcrumbs.
I still have a duty as host
to shake hands and bid them welcome.

Oh! If only it were that plain,
to find things in this place again!
The cracks and crevices have grown
far beyond what I can explain
None of it is yet set in stone.

The walls will move from here to there
when they think you are unaware.
The floor will find stairs if it please
and remove them with the same ease
always some laughter in the air.

Found

Hands formed for functions unrealized
                 land distressed on like minded wood planks
         an unwanted applause

                                  They approach this way

                 Emergency room eyes
                           Obsidian
                        shaped as sharp daggers
                 cutting the dark with fractures of light

                                  They approach this way

Sounds of protest drown in midnight fluids
                 like tree sap and pistons
                                  stretched thin
                 desperate for the floor

                                  They approach this way

I am static and stagnation
                 as broken as the horror before me
          crucified with thick nails of decisions undecided

                                  They approach.