Archive for November, 2013

Voice setting with the sun,

plunged into violet darkness-

this, the realm of twilight,

smells as crisp and empty as tap water.

Wind roars, it ripped what sounds I could make

from me. It over powers me-

sharp and ever-present as a carving knife.

I struggle to produce

even the slightest whisper, but

even the sound of my breath is extinguished

by rushing noise as I stand

on this hill, overlooking the shadowy twilight sky.

I have nowhere to go,

the wind assaults me in battering gusts

from every angle.

I stand like a scarecrow on this brown hilltop.

My throat is tired– burning and twinging,

yielding nothing.

I hang my head in defeat.

Dirty brown clouds have hidden the stars.

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I wish there was a place I belonged.

Where I could escape the screams,

escape the judgement

of eyes widen and staring,

or, thin as worms, glaring.

I wish there was a place I belonged

for even among friends

everything I say is counted against me

with angry exclamations,

or approved with subtle laughter–

not the roaring guffaws

they make after each other’s comments.

I wish there was a place

where I could listen to music that moves,

rustles the long grass blades of my mind,

not this mindless drivel

driving its guitar riffs against gravel vocals.

I wish there was a place where I had friends

who wished to go where I wished to go.

 

I feel the wind on my face,

it caresses, tugs my clothes

and pulls me toward the heart of the forest

near the hills behind my home.

I’m alone.

The sun beats overhead.

For now, I’m where I belong.

Here, in this quiet focus of the natural, blue, green,

and yellow world. It speaks in whispers.

I belong here.

Alone.

Tenderness lives in hands.

In the soft, light, and feathery touch

of skin on skin- Tenderness is passed.

In loving caresses Tenderness relinquishes warmth,

then rushes to hearts and quickens their pace.

Tenderness takes its time

knowing when tears will form,

when happiness abides in the smallest of smiles,

and gratefulness shows in the slow closing of eyes.

Tenderness takes root

at the clasp of palms, and fingers entwining.

It grows in the hearty laughs, genuine smiles,

and red blood visibly rising in cheeks.

Tenderness blooms

where two bodies meet with the slightest of touches,

and grows through years of unity,

where smiles, laughs, and touches never cease.

 

If only I had the wisdom

of a wild beast.

I would stay away from open, offered palms,

and not listen to words sweetened by inflection.

I could smell the metallic bitterness, the buried dishonesty;

taste fear in the saltiness of sweat on the air–

as pungent as rotting meat.

Trust would have to be earned

by genuine kindness–

the warmth of a blanket, or the offering of food.

Care would have to be received

in order for affection to surface.

I would not be blinded

by human facades and false kindness.

I wouldn’t be wounded easily.

If only I had the wisdom of a wild beast,

who thrives through caution,

and is not tricked by open palms, or sweetly coated words.

My midnight is not black.

It is dark blue–

darkest blue, heart of the ocean.

It enfolds me.

I am robed in this shadowless

cover. We have made a covenant.

This moonless dark blue

holds me like a mother holds her child.

My nostrils prickle with scent of earth.

This is

what only I can perceive.

This sheath of dark water,

solid as air,

I move through it like cloth.

It wraps me,

claims me.

I cannot tell if my eyes are open.

It whispers they’re not.

It doesn’t matter.

Night has taken over me.

Something twitches,
the world’s not right,
or perhaps it’s all in my mind.
I would focus on something so trite;

I would call
a shadow’s glimmer to light,
so my friends could disbelieve me.
They stand firm, I’ve not earned that right.

I would harass myself
with imagined snarls of slight.
Those are real to me,
I’m not here…quite.

Yet, I have no time
for keen insight,
I am gazing…
gazing into that black pit called “night”.

I am tumbling up
where stars burn bright.
I am losing my imperceptions,
I am losing sound Sight.

My life lies flat,

I go from bed to bathroom

to kitchen to bedroom,

again and again,

only moving in a circle.

Routine does bring promise

of new insights–

insights into the dull repetition of routine.