Why the night can speak silence so well is secret
those whispers will not speak to eager ears waiting
instead they rest like kittens in warm places
where dreams of sunlight dew their fur.
Know that place only in loss
where the act of being
found is too hard
of a sound
for our
ears.
Tag Archives: existentialism
Cardboard Boxes
It’s not trash, but it should be.
I want it to be,
but someone out there;
a memory,
would hold it against me,
that tangible though brief history
discarded.
as if it didn’t live up to
some archaic pedigree
that would otherwise sustain it
unto antiquity.
Is it not enough that we lived our lives?
Survived?
Survive still,
to store those moments in boxes
or lay them amongst the refuse
and save instead that space?
How do we value emptiness
against all the time that we’ve forgotten?
6 PM
The day has settled
to find rest where it is wont to be,
speak softly, those closing remarks,
and resign to quiet darkness
with the dream of sunlight to carry it to morning.
The restless feign a closed eye
the other, a slivered lookout
waiting for the light to die
just enough to escape beneath the cool evening.
Some adventures can only be had
in the space between.
Out of Sight, Out of Mind
Here we hide our memories;
those lost, those forgotten
and those memorialized.
Most moments
will outlive their time-
processed,
so completely,
we want nothing to do with them anymore
but, the part of us that lives on-
in the brighter corners of that vacant space
will not be discarded.
Here we store them…
We place them in a box.
to cultivate dust and nostalgia,
for our future selves to discover,
swipe away;
trivialize.
Other events are so magnificent
they break the realm of time itself
piercing the boundaries of reality;
letting it bleed out
until its eyes dim
the skin pallid
fading
and we are faced with no choice but
to pack those away too.
here they rest patiently…
until there is enough room
for them to exist once again
or reality needs once again
to be reminded how fragile it is.
Inspiration
Coin operated
machinery in symphony
the spaces between
more than the emptiness there
a sense of belonging.
Lamplighter
The air dissolves at night,
milky swirls of sorrowful clouds
lurching among street lamps
huddled close to the fitful flames
lapping at what warmth that drips down.
Yes
To stand before that raging tide and say, “no.”
the salt laden water rising to the throat,
confides in me such pride on which to bestow;
to sink beneath the waves and yet rise afloat.
For all the times that change found her overcome,
and would for others be enough to succumb;
for every kind word we have contemplated,
and all that we have yet to face.
Watch
“Do you see, against the city setting,
roiling white clouds of terrible purpose;
from here, not but cotton dabbed in darkness?”
“It could scarce escape me as the day drains,
the glint of windows shook, reflected back;
like orphaned laughter so briefly sustained.
I can hear it at the ends of my hairs,
though the sound itself is too far away.”
“That sharp line dividing the horizon-”
“As if the sky had broken itself cleanly,
the seam rushing toward us high and above.”
“The path to here from there is far indeed,
the seed of hope that flowers before us
was meant to bring prosperity to light,
but found the air up here far too hostile.”
“Conflict is the only air we breathe.”
“Sure, but conflict alone wouldn’t kill it.
Where at first it writhed searching for recourse
it now thrives, a phoenix reborn.
Such horror, and yet beautiful ruin.”
“May its glory rise to outlive us all.
The impact should be around here, shortly.”
“Time enough to live with ourselves at last.”
Kafka
All the vile things coalesce,
segmented and fitted together.
limbs – sprawled asunder,
clawing at a sky hidden
behind walls of wood and brick
the screaming bound by form
hssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
ing until the mouth parts hurt,
the way the palm does-
one hand clapping;
not enough for an applause,
but enough to reprimand.
The back is not for laying anymore
one can only relax on all limbs;
on hands, legs and whatever are these.
The supine is panic and helplessness;
something the mind condemns vehemently.
From somewhere in the recesses
muffled by doors, walls, genetics;
a voice calls out to me-
Am I well?
Am I aware of the time?
Am I clothed?
Stabbing at the ceiling in six different places
in a posture that feels like death I
hsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
back.
No tears will come.
I begin
I fail when I begin;
where others succeed,
I end
and the will to accomplish
can not survive this struggle.
Where others fail,
I can not,
and when I accomplish this end
the struggle to survive will succeed.
I begin
to accomplish, not survive.
Succeed where others will struggle,
and when this I fail,
the end, I can begin.
This struggle,
can not survive to the end,
and where I fail,
I will begin.
I succeed when others accomplish.
I will not fail;
the struggle can end
where I and others succeed,
to accomplish this,
survive when I begin.
Grow Gray With Me 