Categories
Poetry

I’ve been reminded

If you’ve seen me, you’ve seen it:

What pushes my eyebrows together;

What clutches at my heart and mind.

If you’ve heard me, you’ve heard it:

What looks like silence or empty sound, but is words turned inward,

And I unknowingly wish ill for myself.

I know God, and I’d never think to extinguish this –

Yet, I forget vigilance, and the dark swallows my light, since it cannot have me.

If you’ve known me, you’ve known it,

And if you’ve felt me, you’ve felt it,

And now, I see it, hear it, know it, and feel it –

Please, remind me of goodness and of pastimes

In a form that I can revel in –

That I’ll preserve with present

And future joy.

Categories
Poetry

Artless Art

Artless art

Heartless heart

This is far too much for me to take.

Think when I sleep

Sleep when I wake

Blind as a sheep

Sharp as a snake

Finding a path,

Never been trodden

My feet feel clean

But my socks are sodden.

Categories
Favorites Poetry

Infamous Pair

Fear and despair,

What an infamous pair;

They seem to go along splendidly.

However often we learn it’s no good way to think,

Tending to yearn or inclining to shrink,

There’s no end in sight to sorrow or fright –

They just keep on going, try as we might.

And yet, there’s some awful tenderness there,

In the world of terror, the land of despair;

To be embraced readily and by the hand led

To a place where it feels no other feet tread.

The haziness welcome, the mourning, relief

From a place sharply clear, impatient with grief.

Wake me if this happens to all be a dream:

This enticing warmth and care of a scheme.

This miry pit (strangely) doesn’t feel cold at all –

My comfort, made catalyst to its rightful downfall.

Categories
Favorites Poetry

2014

The mirror shudders as violently

As that cardinal flings itself at our window;

Within, a stranger soul shrieks silently –

Which am I, Cain or Abel?

I cannot tell whether my feet touch the ground

Or if they fall right through;

I cannot process any or all sound;

I cannot tell what’s true.

Rosy whites of puddles for eyes –

Tender, inflamed, and oozing ego –

I grope to choke the murmuring mantra of lies;

But with what’s tangible

It’s been emulsified.

Holographic gazes glare through my skull –

I couldn’t feel worse naked;

To this body it’s not knowing who it is

That makes it entirely humiliated.