Posts Tagged ‘questions’

If a minute were longer then so,

long enough to wonder

if my decisions will be transparent

or if they will last and people will know.

And long enough to wander

through the dark streets at dawn,

through the narrow streets accompanied

by a body of yellow fog,

and walk until the morning yawns into existence,

and then proceed through the halls I have come to know,

but with each step

I continue to grow, as all people do,

in that unseen way.

 

And who am I to leave something

more than ephemeral

on an otherwise simple scene, on an otherwise

simple day? Is it right

for me to ask for a bit of permanence,

to ask for more than a footprint

in the snow or in the sand?

Is it right for me to deny something grand?

Is it right for me to ask

for nothing more than the seemingly infinite warmth

in the clasp of a hand?

For, in a minute, what I announce

will be read, forgotten,

or- perhaps- renounced.

 

You were told:

though the Path may twist and bend,

stick to it to receive Happy Ever After.

Now the Woods have cleared, the tunnel opened;

you’re at the last page, but must ask,

is this truly Journey’s End?

Have you ever seen a doorknob split in two?

How does petrichor make you feel?

Do you know what petrichor is?

How many people in the world sneeze at this exact moment?

Would there be color without light?

What do birds think about?

How many ants can lift a cherry?

What’s a child’s first reaction to snow?

How many people do you know with heterochromia?

What were your great-great-great-grandfather’s last words?

What were your grandmother’s first words?

How many purses are there in Japan?

What do bees think of humans?

Who was your first hug?

Status of Humanity

be diminished by

Past questioned, Look, Voice-

and- Expression- thereby-

Why do i     keep bringing

                 You

     into my      dreams ?

not    that

You     are

unwanted-     but i should     be moving on

by now

 

Shouldn’t   i            ?

Now I wonder

if I’m someone who knocks

and tries to bring people

out of their loneliness, or

if I’m the person behind the door

living in my own world,

but shutting other people out

at the same time…

We could join hands

and walk down to the pier.

Look back and see the city lights-

those glowing orbs of white, yellow, and amber.

Look at the water-

so dark at this time, like black velvet.

Feel the cold, wind

biting at the tip of your nose,

air charged with an aura of ice.

Our hands

a heat source, keeping numbness

from settling in our fingertips.

You or I could ask,

out loud or in our heads,

“what is it all for?”

It’s killing time.

That’s all.

But I would rather kill time

with you, than anyone else.

You’re worth more

than the meager minutes I’m given

to spend with you.

When I see you again

will my knees remember to work?

Will my heart remember to be quiet

and be calm, instead of an excited child?

Will you smile that smile

I am just beginning to know

and already appreciate?

Will you take my hand

as we walk?

Will we kiss

in one of those moments

as perfect as an oil painting?

Truly, these are

the questions that plague me,

but I will have to be content

waiting for you to answer them.

Holy, or demonic,

there is something–

unnerving

about this era

where we scrawl with plastics

and come out of hospitals

either black or white.

We fumble with strands of time,

we press our noses to glass,

we walk and take nothing in,

or ride in stomachs of beasts of our own designs.

But where are we going?

Do we go to the great chapel,

see brown and gray stone marvels,

or do we put ourselves behind

unfeeling, glass, metal, and rubber?

Do we fly?

Are we imprisoned in boxes

before our eyes?

Do we ask why?

Are we all ill or in pain

and do not realize?

We take only one side.

Holy or demonic–

those must be our intentions

as we come,

black or white,

sanitized

or dead,

out of hospitals.

Why am I so willing to pass my heart around

on a platter like hors d’oeuvres?

Falling in love is not

something that simply happens;

there is always admiration before desire,

smoke before flame.

Perhaps it is not that I’m willing,

but rather, that I don’t know,

for I would rather live in this haze

for fear of being burned.