I will remember you as you were.
Bright and bejeweled, not drab and degraded.
Who would have known you would come to be this?
You were a king, but now royalty is all you miss.
I hope one day I can help sew you a new tapestry –
one that can be more extravagant for your majesty.
One better than the one hanging upon those cold bricks –
the ones you lost and now are derelict.
They hold nothing – barren and grey.
I know they hope for you to return one day.
I can not help but keep colors on my mind.
So I decided to take a step back in time.
And all I saw were hues that I had lost –
ones I tried to keep at any cost:
Her black hair waving
against a purple sunset
that she had been seeing, coming
for a little while yet.
His honeyed eyes –
when they shut for the last time
I couldn’t see how he could be so wise
that he knew he was near the end of his climb.
But when I turned my eyes back to the present
all I could see was my daughter’s ascent:
Her hair like sprouting soil.
Her eyes like a sky’s morning arrow.
I’ll do it!
I knew all along.
It was obvious.
I should have known…
Along this road.
Follow this path.
The trail for traveling.
the length of the bed between my fingertips.
i feel the sensation of cloth to cheek.
cloth that keeps me warm in the dark.
i find inspiration and appreciation for just a second:
between my fingertips.
i found something i havent really had.
I had met someone long ago
who now has little presence in my life.
But, it is safe to say
that I still remember them every day.
I think I had been with them
where I am sitting now:
Against this bark…
In this light…
No, I didn’t love them.
Yes, I do thank them.
Every day I thank them.
Maybe perhaps it was not what they told me
that had affected me
But rather who they were
that had affected me.
I didn’t see myself in them.
I only saw that I could be like them.
Assured, is what I wanted to be.
Assured, is what I wanted to look like.
Assured, is what I wanted to feel like.
I think I know why I still come back
to sit in that grass.
Against the bark.
In the light.
Perhaps the context
of the wet plants
and wistful air
could help me remember them a little more.
I think I still need them a little more.
I need to be assured a little more.
From the start of the rain
I always felt between the drops
for some kind of air that wasn’t humid
or tainted with acidic moisture
that would burn my skin just basking in it…
I was looking for that light to bask in…
but for some reason I preferred the clouds
perhaps I had spent so long in that shade
that I never wanted to be fully out of it
I just wanted a taste, a touch of beyond it
with my hand still searching between the drops.
How am I supposed
to learn to love what does not
last, when everything
I enjoy is moving so
fast? I don’t want to let go.
Night – a horrible, now chemical thing…
But everyone that knows it doesn’t care that it is,
and everyone that doesn’t know it…
is of course ignorant of it.
“I want you tell me another lie.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to stay quiet.”
“I don’t mind it… The night, I mean.”
“But I do.
I should have found out through you.
I’m glad I didn’t.”
It’s a lie, isn’t it?
Staying quiet. A lie.
It’s funny, actually.
How not doing anything
could come back to get you.
would put you in quite the mess as well…
It’s funny, it’s funny, it’s funny,
so sadistically funny…
Like picking poisons…
off a shelf…
When I was in my more vulnerable years
a domineering giant said to me
“What do people do when you let them speak?
Don’t let them scream.”
The giant being the man to give my life a start,
I took those words to heart,
those words he really seemed to mean
since he never let me speak my mind
and never really let me be defined.
I later learned this parenting was to digress,
leading the child to grow grotesque.
And so to I – already deprecated
from the words of my harsh father –
began to think of myself as someone who could go no farther –
farther than I already had,
farther than I somehow already got.
Alas, I tell you, do not – do not think the way I have.
As I have learned through no easy path
that self-worth is dependent upon what you pave
and not what others have seen you do.
Do as I say, don’t do as I do.
there is hope for you.
Incessant, incessant –
I find my thoughts arcing in a crescent
from crescendos to abysses,
there isn’t a second that my raging thoughts misses.
From the morning to sundown,
I find I can’t stop mourning those put down –
or celebrating my speciality,
or therein what I perceive to be.
After many months and yearning years,
I find that there is thus one way –
one way to render these rites as relinquished –
and it comes calling with crawling clocks.