Poem: Until


Days

where my skin rubs against

the surrounding particles

of the long dead others

and also

silent trapped thoughts

running fingers down

my nakedness

They absorb

into my open pores

and seep into the recesses

those closed in spaces

in between the cells

and shackled together

by this fleshy scarred coat

It chills

and pulls taut

over bones and blood

stretched to breaking

by times passing

This living hull

scratched and worn

Home

until the day

it joins

the earth

 

 

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Poem: Sitting


Stretching years

solitude

Fortress walls

stone comforts hold

Noise outside

blank inside

Endless seconds

turn forgotten gone

Thoughts come visit

and leave again

quiet quiet

While the walls

listen

listen

 

 

 

 

 

 

Art: Blazing Hope


poem art 4

Hope, I am perfectly willing to admit, is one of those things I’ve relied far too much on. My life hasn’t maybe been as tidy as I’ve wanted it to be, but I keep thinking it’s OK because I always have that thing called hope.¬†It can be plastered on anything really and comes in handy for so many situations…

For you see, the discussions for me happen pretty much in my own head: over and over. That looping of thoughts, both of all the stuff that I shouldn’t have done–(it doesn’t last for too long anymore)–and that almost immediate glow of hope¬†trying very hard to wipe out those other stale ruminations of the past.

So I talk with myself constantly (sometimes quite out loud)–trying to set the hope free: that burning hope. I figure if I keep this chatter on long enough, maybe eventually it will set ablaze and blast off into reality.