Posts Tagged ‘stars’

Were the Stars my Eyes,

I could truly see-

not just worldly Beauty-

but- vast Eternity.

Where is the crossing

of the stars? Not Here,

as is desired-

Youths wish it’d appear-

 

though- Consequences

be neglected- Outcomes-

rarely what expected,

or what one dreams-

Under the stars-

show me the constellations you know.

Why don’t we make some up, too?

Wrapped in sweatshirts, blankets.

A foot is quite a bit of distance.

Should I move closer?

I want to.

Would you mind if

I touched your hand?

Leaned against you?

Kissed you?

Nothing but us, the ground,

the food in a basket, and

all the other amenities I brought.

And the stars

shining.

But when I go

out at night

and look at the stars,

my back presses against the snow

and I feel the feathery light touch

of the wind

and shiver,

and there’s shadowed white

on either side of me,

and only black-and-white night above,

yet all I can think about

is you

moving, or pulling me, closer

so we can try

to keep each other warm.

This will thrill

like the sun, anxiety

of spring undoing

the old curse

of cold overstayed.

And the green pushes up,

unfurls like a map of stars,

and ribbed transparent stalactites

fall to shatter into

the earth. A new

song will flit over the hills.

There is a certain nobility

in silence.

If one is composed,

one can slip juicier tidbits of conversation

back, into the stomach of memory.

A silent one can hear his or her house fall, and buy a new one.

A silent one can hear the animals die,

and go out and bring them in to save her family.

A silent one can hear poison

dripped into his cup.

A silent one can hear the stars falling.

                         *

There is a certain terror in silence.

In dead of hours of day,

the sound of the sinking sun

reminds the listener

that this will all end- washed out, black,

without a sun.

In the warm clutches of folds of night

a listening one has only her thoughts,

or his heart to listen to:

and the thoughts say

“you will die, you will die. This darkness

may be the last, or only thing you see,”

and the hearts says

“i am dying, i am dying. Hear how faint i am?”

                          *

Dear reader,

you are a listener.

You are also a silent one.

Everyone, occasionally, is.

Take my hand, the blood rushes from my heart.

Take my hand, and blood rushes to my head.

Only in fractions of seconds are we apart.

 

It has been so since the start.

Our eyes met, and I felt myself turn red.

Take my hand, the blood rushes from my heart.

 

We edged together, in the center of the mart.

Words were lost, white teeth and small laughs took their stead.

Only in fractions of seconds are we apart.

 

You opened your mouth, my thoughts could only dart

around, bouncing like rubber balls, ruining my head.

Take my hand, blood rushes from my heart.

 

I smiled, you smiled. Minutes passed. Time was a lost art.

You left me a number. “I’ll see you again,” I said,

“Only in fractions of seconds are we apart.”

 

At nightfall we met again, you brought a chart

of constellations. You kissed me, and I invited:

“Take my hand”, the blood rushes from my heart.

Only in fractions of seconds are we apart.

Black night cracks its whip at its end,

daylight purges the sky

of the trickery of stars, the morose shadow

blooming over clouds and over the moon,

a false, wilting rose.

Sounds take root and rise as dawn washes a mauve wave

over hilltops and baselines of trees.

 

Persistent footsteps at the base of my skull

vanish. Knockings from outside disappear.

Gone are the thieves,

who misted into my house, under my door.

Gone are their twisted knives,

caked with old, brown dried blood–

black clothes spattered with old business.

Gone is the trance

night puts me under. It suggests I’m not alone

in my own home. I’m blind so

I cannot disagree.

Gone are the tricks

I fall for each night.

I once believed there were monsters,

I now think there are thieves.

 

Under flashes of sun

we see what is real.

When night falls,

we cannot even trust what we feel.

To some extent my world is falling

out of balance, or I am simply reeling

out of mind.

I look up. Stars have warped into yellow-white

peacock feathers, luminous and blooming,

spreading threads of curling light.

My eyes sting.

I look at the darkening world.

The horizon glows purple

against blue haze of night.

What would be trees

are gnarled and twisted spikes

jutting up from the hills

like ugly skyscrapers.

They seem to be cut from black paper.

They are shadows dancing in a hot rain.

My eyes itch.

The whole landscape swells and distorts.

Obsidian hills and shadow-trees and purple sky

are bleeding together, melting

into a uniform nothing.

A ball of shadows and dark colors.

I rub my eyes.

Tears fall.

My world rights itself.

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.