Saturday #1

Last week, I swore I would get out of my fucking house and meet some people. For god’s sake, I was merging with my couch!

Which led to yesterday. Yesterday was Poetry Workshop day

Poetry Workshop Day

What better way to know if I am actually good at poetry or not? I asked myself, clicking the RSVP link and adding the event to my calendar.

I woke up bright and early that morning, rolled out of bed, showered and dressed. I chose the hyperlink blue top, black tights, and black & gray sorrel pdx wedges. Why I’m so enraptured by these clothes, I don’t know…

I got into my car and set on the audio-book to play, using GPS to navigate me to the nearby city. Remembering I needed to stop at the bank, I found my way winding through the metropolitan area, sprinkled with areas of construction along the main highway. I soon reached my exit and began winding up and down streets lined with shops, laundry mats, ethnic shops, restaurants, drugstores, and lottery booths.

It reminded me a bit of downtown Birmingham, AL, when I’d visited almost 3 years ago now… The same hip vibe, ethnic people, eclectic shops.

They must have a bunch of coffee shops here, I thought to myself.

When I arrived at my destination, I ran into a familiar problem, where to park. After circling the nearby blocks, I found a spot, small and tight, between a BMW and a Jeep. There I went, squeezing in my Honda Civic with a prayer on my lips, and my foot mashed on the brake. Thank god I knew how to parallel park (practice practice practice). After much reversing and care, I incrementally fit my small car into the space without tapping the neighboring cars.

I’m 18 minutes late.

I locked the doors, grabbed my backpack, and struck off down the sidewalk, counting down to the building number -201- then took the stairs to the second floor. I was pointed down a long hallway, to the last door on the left, where the meetup was held.

I opened the door.

And the vibe was warm, the auras were welcoming, and I didn’t feel uncomfortable.

I will come back, I thought, even before I’d sat down.

I was introduced to everyone, and I was Cole, nice to meet you. It felt like a comfortable cloak I’d never removed. I was Cole again.

Actually, I don’t think I’d stopped being Cole. Cole was always there, I realized as I grabbed a seat at the table. I am Cole.

I’m always Cole. No matter what they call me.

We responded to three writing prompts, taking ten minutes to write, then having the option to share what we read. I shared my poems each time.

I’ll share them here, with you…

____________________________________

Prompt: Break a rule – write about something we are told not to write about (i.e. fatherhood and death by cancer).

I stood there, in trepidation and silence,
A sorrow, stale and worn;
I could not seem to grasp the sounds.
They stood in white before me,
A flock of heartless birds to steal my soul away
With a word, a look, a halfhearted turn-of-phrase.

Wringing out, the eeking keen of disbelief tinged the air green,
A sickly soft syrup slushed through my veins;
I cannot even gesture acquiescence or rejection.
Captured, sliced, and mute.

The room I awake in is white
– Fuck the white.
I HATE the white that had woven the lies that sowed
Hope in my heart.
Why was there no black?

Spiraling down, I land on my knees
In the gravel driveway;
Choking, heaving, listing,
Clutching the last memory that
Slowly sifted away into sand.

Dirt trickles from my frozen fingers,
I find no comfort in the cloying scent
Of jasmines and sunflowers adorning
The gaping hole where my heart lies.
There is nothing I wouldn’t do
To destroy the world, to erase the limits of time,
To turn back those harsh and unsympathetic hands.
To return to her loving arms
Riddled with central lines, pumping
Poison into collapsing veins,
Destroying the smile on her lips.
The shattered glass of her eyes
When she asked when daddy would take her home.
Would he come now? She had been
So good, right mommy?

And I stared at the dirt mounded,
Covering my shame and guilt;
Laying down beside her, I finally —
Break.

Daddy is home.

____________________________________

I felt so wrung after reading. The silence in the room made me shy and embarrassed. The complements thereafter were warm. Slightly uncomfortable, I accepted the complements with a smile and thanks in the way I had been taught to do.

Would it kill you to accept a fucking complement, Cole?

The next prompt was tougher, harder for me to write. I started two different sets, thoughts akimbo, until in the last 5 minutes I realized what I was afraid of writing the most.

I didn’t want to write about W.

____________________________________

Prompt: Write about what you are afraid to write about

What he did
Was cruel.
I never understood
How a smile could hide
Such a devious mind.

Destroying more that year
Than I knew to be precious.
The truth is,
The cracks within,
Were my own.

The words were never there,
The emotion obliterated.
The past continues to return,
A demon never exorcised.
He planted the seeds,

And I can’t seem to halt the growth.

____________________________________

A muffled silence. I felt raw, thoughts racing. I realized, in hindsight, that the words sounded like the words one would write about an ex.

There were no words to explain I was writing not about an old flame, but an older, pathetic man who once called himself my boss. Ascribing words of another time into the present, where I finally had words to define and describe that which had been sealed behind my lips for so long.

On the page, I looked down on the words, written with anger, large and angular. Cross-outs throughout the page, blots scribbled out angrily. I could feel that anger now, in the silence. I realized my emotion caused me to read the words too fast, out of pace for absorbing the words by the listener…

I took deep breaths. This was turning into a spot of therapy…

After a 15 minute break, the last prompt was more… thoughtful. Approaching another, less harmful memory, I went back to childhood.

____________________________________

Prompt: Address an Entity in Rebellion

Hello. I wonder if you remember me
Please sit down, sir, you’ve spoken quite enough.
Let the oxygen in,
Let us breath for a damn minute
Before you drown us in pontification.
Opinion and bluster to erase
Every independent thought, as you spoke
With the arrogance of the morning star.

Did you ever stop to think about
The impact of your words?
Or were you so drunk on power
– Inebriated by greed and jealousy –
That you couldn’t spare a single thought for your victims?

The innocent wide brown eyes,
Disregarded by prying words.
Crowbars clattering against the locks.
Did you see me standing there?
Watching your desperation and triumphal
Entry? No, for all that you could see
Were earthly treasures.

Stacks of green paper mark you
A liar, sir, for heaven was not
To be found in the darkened
Maw of the safe.

Machinations, silver tongued
And multilingual, I watched you
Sway the multitude like
Wheat bowing to the wind
Waves of majesty before you
Could you see me standing there?

When the votes were tallied
Thy will, not my will, be done
In church as it may never be done
Above. The steeple mocked
Us all.

In the shadow of the cross
Judas put forth his hand for
Coin.
Did you know, sir, that the
Value of all you covet that day
Was not even worth fifteen cents?

Did you see me standing there
Watching you froth at the lips
The only words chanting from your lips
“Where is the money?”

____________________________________

I dropped my book with a thud of finality. Again, silence.

“This actually happened,” I said, shying from looking anyone in the eye, bouncing my eyeballs at the empty spaces just beyond eye level.

“I’m sorry,” my neighbor said softly.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I was just a kid.”

I don’t know why I said that. I felt stupid for saying that.

The members shared what they wrote as they had done for each prompt. I closed my eyes to listen, grounding in the moment away from my turbulent thoughts to focus on their spoken words in the moment.

Stay in the moment, Cole.

Talent was in that room. I know it. Beauty woven in those words, I felt the peace descend. I was where I was supposed to be.

At the end, as I packed up and headed out the door, a member said, “I liked what you wrote.”

“Thank you.” I smiled into his eyes. “I liked your poems too, you have a beautiful sense of humor.”

We smiled at each other, and I continued out the doorway

Put the Pieces Back Together

I sat in my car. I just wanted… a break.

I felt flimsy, like a stiff breeze would blow me away and I’d cease to exist.

Wiggling out of the parking spot I’d wedged into, I pulled away into traffic, GPS charted for the 2nd Coffee shop I’d found almost 2 months ago that I hadn’t yet visited. I left the city and entered the suburbs, winding down more familiar roads until I arrived at the Maywood Pancake House.

Again, parking was hard to find. I ended up far away, but the sunshine was beautiful on my face, the air fresh and clean, I strutted up the sidewalk with a smile and entered in through the door into a

Bustling

Busy

Restaurant.

Mouth agape, I looked around in amazement. Did they actually serve vegan food here? And this many people came to eat?

“Sorry for the wait, how many?” the hostess asked, pulling me from my blatant staring.

“One,” I replied.

“Would you like to sit in the booth or at the counter?” She asked. I followed her gesture at the booth parked in the far corner. It looked dark and claustrophobic. The counter was open, well lit and inviting.

“The counter please.”

“This way.”

I followed her to the counter facing the coffee machines, the presses, and the sorcery where baristas flitted like busy bees, assembling all kinds of breakfast beverages. The hostess placed a menu and a napkin wrapped fork and knife on the table in front of the last chair at the end of the counter. “Here okay?”

“That’s fine.” I smiled reflexively.

She smiled in return, and left me to awkwardly perch on the chair, wiggling out of my coat and backpack which I stubbornly refused to leave behind in the car. I put the coat over the back of my stool, and perched the backpack under the counter lip to rest on the brass foot railing my legs couldn’t reach. I hooked my heels over the stool rungs and opened the menu.

“Hi, can I get you anything?”

I looked up at the waiter, whose words were spoken in an accent that reminded me of western Europe. Was it Russian? No, maybe Polish? Czech? It was lovely, all the same.

“Mmm,” I scanned the menu, “can I get a glass of soy milk?”

“A glass of soy milk?” I nodded. “Coming right up.”

He grabbed a glass and a straw, poured the milk up to the rim, and set the glass down before me without spilling a drop. I was impressed.

“Thanks!” I said, then sucked it down, surprising myself with my thirst.

I eventually ordered vegan pancakes -duh, right? -with chocolate chips and coconut shavings on top. I wondered if they served chai tea, but didn’t see it on the menu. Oh well…

As I waited for the food, I wrote in my notebook:

Such an onslaught of emotion. Both tired and shell-shocked, I await my vegan pancakes w/chocolate chips and coconut atop.

Emotionally wrung dry… I feel weary with eyelids heavy w/ sleep. Suddenly exhausted. The hot air balloon collapses upon itself and my facade is no more.

Weary, almost fragile. At the counter I alternate between writing and glancing at the cc of the TV spewing news reports. I can’t keep up. I remember why I hate the news.

After 4 pancakes and 2 milk glasses, I feel finally human. Shell intact.

I wonder what to do next. It’s only 2:30ish, perhaps travel to B&N? No… somewhere peaceful and quiet.

Or, maybe, just drive…

I wanted to ask Leo, my waiter, where his accent was from, but the opportunity did not arise.

Stuffed and craving a spot of exercise – shocking, I know – I decided walking was next on the menu. But not outside… inside would be preferable -ah-hah! The mall!

Parking again was illusive. I circled for 15 minutes with fellow cars, wheeling circles like birds of prey in the sky. I finally found a spot at the Target parking lot.

I walked for over an hour before my feet screamed their exhaustion. I turned my car home.

Thus ended my day..

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My Muse

I’m humming a tune that I can finally remember. I write it down. The words float to me easily, the melody plays in my ears, I am immersed in the sound of beauty. A few tweaks and I’m onto a masterpiece.

The ideas come freely, I am a-gaggle and a-goggle with giddy delight. I laugh and smile, a little less hollow now. I’m wrapped in words and the plot rolls before me like a river to chart my course to the path I had struggled to achieve and yet never quite approached.

I am watching romance films and I don’t know why but I find them charming rather than nauseating.

It’s like the bubbling in my chest, the joy of life, the crisp of autumn, all combine to make me alive. I want to be alive again, and my fingers and heart and soul are dancing a melody of something genuine and new, something unfolding from inside like a sheltered flower that finally bloomed.

This didn’t happen before and I don’t know what it means now that it is.

I just am.

I exist and for once, that’s okay.

Are you the one who unlocked my creative side? The side so still and cold I thought it maybe had died from neglect or… sadness.

With all this, I am feeling again, and that means that pain is on the way. Time to slaughter and slay and to forget all my names.

And yet I cradle it close, like a long lost lover. Captivated by it’s light and beauty. I am subdued by its power and it rules me. For a time, for a season. Will it fade away and leave me again with the gray?

Is this a love? Or is this pain disguised as pleasure?

When will you hurt me. Again.

Metal and edge, the beauty of a katana is not just in how it gleams in the light. But in its slash and cape of blood. Likewise, something this beautiful starts with joy and cuts to the quick in a sharp and incisive way. Needlepoint my heart. Cover my eyes, and make me love again.

It hurts, it’s love, it hurts.

It’s love.

It hurts.

It is raw and untethered, like grated nerves stretched for piano wire.

It cuts yet the sound is piercing.

Among yet not With People

I pick up on that “among people” even if I am not “with people” vibe too, especially when I’m at Barnes & Nobles curled up with a comic or book or just writing in the knock-off Starbucks cafe section, watching people.

Some people are obviously on a date, others are doing homework in group study. Some are just chilling by themselves. In such an environment, one can just be, without being overwhelmed by maintaining conversation or putting up a front with someone else. In such moments, we are all aware of each other and accepting through our silence and lack of verbal interaction -aside from asking to share the power outlet or to watch someone’s stuff for them on a quick bathroom break.

The hum of dialogue is a soft and melodic bass, the excited voices of children a punctuation and the steadfast and plodding steps of the grandparents a slow, reliable rhythm anchoring the symphony as the coffee pot gurgles its steamy melody.

In the fall, the pumpkin spice latte accents the air, flitting around the sent of coffee and baked goods. The barista chuckles with her coworker as they argue the merits of one band’s lead singer over another. A familiar banter I hope to someday emulate with someone, someday, somewhere…

A sense of hopelessness washes over me, I turn back to the straightforward world of heroes, misunderstood and yet never alone, even when the knife of betrayal plunges into their soul over and over, they are never alone.

A sidekick, a partner, a lover, a brother, a friend, a colleague, an ally, enemy-of-my-enemy-

There is always someone…

I pull my hoodie around me, burrowing deeper into the slightly uncomfortable wooden chair perched in the window. Cars go by, there is something so hypnotic about the zoom of the vehicles from one side of the window to the other.

-Zip.

-Zap

-Zop.

We played the zip-zap-zop game in drama class, to prompt swift reaction time and to practice reacting off each others’ “energy” I guess. It was a rapid game, accompanied with a clap and slide of one palm over the other in the direction of someone else who caught the “Zip” and sent off a “Zap” to another who received and slided a “Zop” on to someone else.

Hesitate or delay, and you’re out of the game.

“Zip”     “Zap  “Zop”

“-Zip!” “-Zap!” “-Zop!”

Zip

Zap

Zop

Catch a turn of life, quickly return it to someone, somewhere else. Quickly move on before you sink and become bogged down by the intensity of the here and now.

Zip

Zap

Don’t fail to move along-

“-Zop”

Winner is all alone.

The king at the pinnacle of his throne desired a queen to sit with him. So he sent his brave knight to search the land for a woman worthy to become his queen. He waited for 30 days and 30 nights, and on the morning of the 31st day, word is brought that a queen of most noble carriage and unmatched beauty is on her way, accompanied by the king’s most courageous and loyal knight, to meet and wed the king.

How his heart burst to hear the news! His majesty could hardly contain himself. What to wear? What to do? How should he prepare to meet his most beloved queen?

The king was besides himself with joy. He commanded that the entire palace be cleaned from top to bottom, that the finest foods in the kingdom be brought and the most lauded chefs cook a banquet to honor his queen on their wedding day. All the nobles of the land were summoned to the wedding, and all the common folk brought gifts and homage to the palace, in honor of his queen.

When finally the queen-to-be arrives, the king raced forward to greet her. He noticed her delicate hands and melodic voice, her laughter and sparkling eyes. In all her raven haired beauty, none else in the kingdom could match her in beauty.

If he wasn’t in love before, his majesty was smitten by the mere sight of her.

Three days later, the wedding bells rung, and the King married his lawfully wedded Queen. The king was delighted, he achieved the pinnacle, and had at his side, the most divine of all feminine creatures. What more could he ask for?

…Loyalty

…Faithfulness

Devotion…

A month later, the king found himself in the smoldering ashes of his ambition. His most loyal knight, whom he had trusted above all others, held his blade to the King’s throat.

His queen stood by the knight’s side, her delicate hands clasped over her belly, almost 3 months pregnant.

Forced away from his kingdom, with neither queen nor support, the King of one turned to the forest with a broken heart. His army stolen, his love betrayed, he had nothing left but a hollow crown and empty arms.

Show… don’t tell…

Right.

Sometimes less is more.


Photo Source

The Silence Burns

How much I’ve trapped within these eyes? Like a mute I struggle to place the words to my lips, and pen to paper.

How do I talk about what happened -What is happening? Is it something I should just lock away?

How do I describe what that time did to me, how I am still struggling to collect the glass shards shredding my fingertips burnt with glue holding this fractured window in place? How do I speak of those moments that I want to forget and yet cannot erase.

This mute agony excavating my veins. Screams in my pores, and yet all is placid and still above while I drown and thrash and convulse in the grasp of a predator from yesterday who still visits me. Easing through my gates, slipping past the bars to taunt me and haunt me and laugh at who I am now.

It’s like you’re saying you’ve won.

But it isn’t you who torments me. It’s my emotion memory. How I felt, not what you did. Echoes of imprinted terror and anger, pain and fire sing through taunt frayed nerve endings.

I shake with rage, shudder in anguish, and wrap this cashmere shawl around me and tell myself it is over. But my mind just doesn’t believe, my body remains on edge, it lives in me and I in it.

We are in recovery but still live the trauma.

And we go on, in silence.

I. Won’t. Fall. Quietly. Into. The. Dark.

Blindly into the night- Fists to the sky, I am free and speech is my birthright… I rise- I move and have feeling- These scars remind me that I am a champion- A survivor- No one can own me-

I wear the crown. And yet these stitches in my mouth…

I suffer and I don’t know why.

And yet I suffer, again, in silence.


picture source

Mockery of the Angels

You said you were ready
But had no idea what you were in for
You thought the law would protect you
But lacked the imagination of a criminal.

You thought hiding behind laws
And walls would be enough to save you
Yet, those were only needed to enslave you
Words written down to betray you
Nothing more than broken promises
Made by an unfaithful lover.

You thought that speaking a truth
Would drown all the lies
Naive child, don’t you know
Last one standing writes the historic byline?

The dead tell no tales
The martyrs never write their own creeds
The ones burned at the stake
Never write their own obituaries
So what was your plan of succession?
When naught but assassins surrounded you?

Every ally becomes your enemy
Every stone wall projectiles for condemnation
Every brick of evidence open to suggestion
A fabrication of interpretation.

Did you really think that the media would save you
That they would snap up your words and relay accuracy?
Did you forget that these vultures
Only chase the freshest meat?
And yet the same words of love in the morning
Turn to accusation by mid-afternoon, and death penalty by nightfall.

Did you really trust that your comrades
Would guard your back from the wolves?
Did you not suspect that they
Would follow to each their own?

We only canonize the dead
When we are told to, we laud
And praise genius when it is laid to rest
We embrace and celebrate when the tombstone is placed
We remember the soldiers only when they’ve fallen
And the innocents by piling skulls in Valentine’s square.

Are you a child or are you grown?
Are you asleep or have you woke?
Do you really know this world you are in
Or do you cling to your myopic view of the world?

WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!
You are left wide open
To a bullet, a bomb, a word of slandar
No one will put their life on the line to save yours
Everyone will fail you
Your superman will die.

This world is rotten
The system dismantled through systemic, systematic chisels
The truth is just a perception
Your indignation, a fanciful dream.

There is NO justice!
Stop chasing a dream
The powerful always win, the money trumps the law
Truth is free, what is freely given is never treasured
Blood stains deeper than innocence
Ignorance is bliss.

So take off those fucking rosy glasses
And see the hell where you live
It’s deep inside your home
It’s buried within your heart.

Pull back the curtain
And see the reality of it all
Your sword is broken, your pen out of ink
All the world has begun to sink
We’re digging to hell, baby, and no one’s gonna stop us
We breed in this filth and LIKE IT.

So stay lily white
And we will decorate your skin with black handprints of soot
And speckles of blood
Weigh the scales of justice with your heart in one, and the sword in the other.

You tell me which one sinks the scale
Does a feather still equalize or does it only
Break the camel’s cigarette spine?
We like to be broken, you won’t sustain us
We’ll take you down, you’ll be one of us
For we are all dead men…

Poem inspired by the manga -Revival Man ch 36-40 -written by Jae Yong Taek, artist Kim Jae-han

Picture source

A Spark

Life is beautiful in pain, with the tinged edges of lofted memories.
Like peanut butter smeared on celary
Or caramel chocolate.

But this isn’t a conversation about food.

It’s been 5 months, so much has changed
Faster than even I could have arranged.
The barometer of time
Can erase much from the lines.
But never the emotion
Of words left unspoken.

I wonder sometimes about the options,
To roads full of cautions;
In the end, people are themselves;
It’s too much to keep them assigned to their shelves.
They are free
Just like me.

I laugh now more than I cry,
Some things I remember with a sigh;
This path of decisions,
Not everyone wants to listen.

After so long in the dark,
I emerge in the sun, shattered and stark;
And yet I am comfortable with these marks.
It is my history, my grounding story.

The harsh disconnect of being unmoored,
A history shrouded in blank pages, torn;
That lack of anchor both empty and freeing,
Hence a future full of meaning.

I build again and again.
I try not to be discouraged by the end.
Because the close of a chapter begins another.

So I close the pages of yesterday;
My joys, regrets, and past ways.
Because new leaves have unfurled,
This growing tree expands my world.

Joy tinged with sadness,
Peace with gladness;
In a way I had to break,
To put the pieces in this brand new shape.

So in a way I must thank the trauma,
That ended so much drama;
And freed me to be more in line
With this beauty unconfined.

When the forest fire dies
Smoke and ashes flies
Seedlings will grow
And the coals will show

A brave new beginning. . .

(Untitled)

I sail in a ship, not of my design
But of my input
Breaking the waters of a world
I cannot understand
Surrounded by the confusion
I cannot solve
Condemned to a deck
I did not build.

This vessel of mine
I cannot fathom
Raising sails I did not weave
Grasping a wind
I did not request
Heading in a direction
Not of my choosing

As though, of all the directions
It would have been this way
The options naught but empty
Unfulfilled destiny,
For all the choices I supposedly earned
Only one was placed before me
The captain’s wheel fixed
On a destination
I never charted

For all the stars in the heavens
I could only find one
Of all the ships in the harbor
Only one would take me
For all my struggles to alter
The path was set

This vessel of mine
Conveys me by unwilling knots
No more can I assertain
The trickery of fate
When all my decisions
Led me to this predetermined sea.

And what of these bones
And mind that betrays me
What construct is this
In my hands and feet
Fingers and throat
To directly challenge my every desire
With impertinent need.

#MeToo (and 3 and 4 and more)

Do not prod the sleeping beast
Do not come greedy to the supposed feast
Do not disrespect
Behaving like vapid derelicts
Disgrace in every salacious action, word, insinuation, and innuendo.

Do not downplay the frequency
Actions of greatest indecency
The behaviors of animals
Worse than even cannibals
Pretending to be superior, elevated beings.

Do not speak your mind and dismiss
The outcomes worse than an unwanted kiss
Do not become outspoken experts
Thinking bodies are pornography adverts
And flesh another warehouse for your base fantasy.

Because when it’s your turn to defend
And avoid the unwanted attentions of the condemned
When you are trapped and held back
With advances you can’t even track
Tell me how “harmless” words really are when they whisper and hold you down.

Did you know that victims outnumber perpetrators in the end?
In this world, if you contribute to this trend
Best watch your actions and your words
Don’t be swept up in those herds
Lest the sheep you torment grow up to be wolves.

Keep your hands to yourself
Direct that ego to the bottom shelf
You are nobody’s gift
Just another unholy rift
To the shredded decency of society.

Welcome to the face of savagery
With no consequences, it continues unwary
Keep sitting on your hands
Critiquing other lands
When your apathy proves you a hypocrite.

And you, the silent ones
Stacking ignorance like retirement funds
Invalidate reality
Deaf and blind to the scenery
Culpable, approving, and complicit in your inaction.

You are even worse somehow
Turning your back, not making a sound
See, hear, and prevent no evil
Yet another useless medieval
Because you know and still do nothing.

Do not defend or excuse
Do not accuse or misuse
Each being is royalty
Extend support and loyalty
Honor each precious being.

What happened to respect?
Did society destroy and neglect
The very fabric of humanity?
In favor of sordid fantasy?
No, it was in favor of evil, screwed priorities, and pure selfishness.

And you, who know so much
Who never encountered an unwanted touch
Keep your stones inside your rock garden
Lest your words return from the mouth of your warden
Since when does existence equal temptation and breathing equate seduction?

Rant and rave
Against absent justice craved
What a mad world we enterprise
Where the innocents are despised
And the predator is congratulated for their crime.

 

picture credit: http://bit.ly/2y1Fsfz

Trophies

Every day there is a new addition
Another blank spot filled
Every day another addition
To the wall of trophies.

There is one of every race
One of every color
There is a category for every gender
Every age
Every rate.

Every day
So many trophies

And the angel looks at the trophies
And weeps.
With abject sorrow and pain
As the shelves only multiply
And continue to fill

A wall drips down
And the tears fall down
The shelves climb high to the sky
A torrent of tragedy.

Did you know that trophies
Are something that serial killers
Take to remind themselves
Of the moments.

Trophies.

So which killer is this?
With shelves to the sky
Filled with trophies of every color
Race,
Age,
Rate?

This killer is silence.

This killer is hate.

This killer is rape.

This killer is ignorance.

This killer Is Evil.

This killer lives among us
In our silence
And our ignorance
And disbelief.

And until the silence is broken
And love returns
And rape is abolished in word and deed
Until ignorance is washed in wisdom and creed
We will continue to be nothing
But trophies.

Standing on the Bridge We Burned

We cannot return to the past
No matter that the regret lasts
Or that penance drips sorrow

They fear us because we are the shadows
Color of the night
We are the offspring of the stars

But we are not a generation of peace
Misplaced rage
Some say -stupidity-  yet just ignorance.

We don’t think, just speak
We don’t ponder, just tweet
Thoughtless mind, empty chatter.


Image source: https://laitma.deviantart.com/art/Iris-Broken-Bridge-532571670