He began with silence.
Chiseled mountains in sky,
constructing
clouds into coliseums,
turning trees into the types of towers
only
birds could visit.
And with earth eyes
and tree branch
fingers
he sparked ideas.
Molded perfection
with slouched
shoulders
and youthful smiles.
You can't begin
until you
understand
that this was his world.
Precise.
Perfect.
Nothing
but a locked cathedral,
with dictionaries at every pew.
He
charted out every slurred word,
every false smile, and restless
stare.
He drew lines through the noise:
small squares of
separation.
He would be their god-
The creator of their words.
The
master of their minds.
But with each thought they grew.
Their
existence a revelation of memory and sound.
They set their
world ablaze.
Ideas burning into their core.
He struggled,
desperate
to put out their flames.
Yet he could only cover his ears
As he
was consumed by the chatter
Friday, April 27, 2012
Son of the Sky
At five
he fell in love
with stardust,
and the sounds you make
when you're
sleeping.
He's been breathing
slowly,
collecting beauty
in his lungs,
and supernovas
in his veins.
But he would rather paint stars
then chase them.
(My ribs once a shield of flawless ozone,
but now each exhale brings with it more cracks)
We built this world on promises
and sunlit bridges;
we only wanted to touch the sky.
he fell in love
with stardust,
and the sounds you make
when you're
sleeping.
He's been breathing
slowly,
collecting beauty
in his lungs,
and supernovas
in his veins.
But he would rather paint stars
then chase them.
(My ribs once a shield of flawless ozone,
but now each exhale brings with it more cracks)
We built this world on promises
and sunlit bridges;
we only wanted to touch the sky.
The Sound of Trees Crying
Our days were shaded
translucent green,
watching the world through a veil
of sunlight streamed branches
and tilted trunks.
It's skin was crinkled and cracking,
beautifully scarred
and more alive
then I could ever be.
But humans have a problem with perfection:
they chop it up
and crack its layers.
Now there is nothing left but ground.
And it's cold, wet,
and raining broken limbs
through the middle of parking lots
and empty streets.
The wind is howling,
searching for chlorophyll veins.
Such loss of life.
Mother Nature has been dreaming in dew drops.
For once the world is still.
And now she cries.
translucent green,
watching the world through a veil
of sunlight streamed branches
and tilted trunks.
It's skin was crinkled and cracking,
beautifully scarred
and more alive
then I could ever be.
But humans have a problem with perfection:
they chop it up
and crack its layers.
Now there is nothing left but ground.
And it's cold, wet,
and raining broken limbs
through the middle of parking lots
and empty streets.
The wind is howling,
searching for chlorophyll veins.
Such loss of life.
Mother Nature has been dreaming in dew drops.
For once the world is still.
And now she cries.
Waiting on Shallow Breaths
You said you loved her,
like love is just something that comes and goes.
Something temporary
like ice.
And it's been cutting holes
in my lungs.
I just kept coughing up hope,
until I finally forgot how to breathe.
And you just sat there
and watched me drown.
I got so lost in the dark that I split myself up into stars:
Watched as I fell into fragments,
shedding shells of light.
So I prayed that you would find me.
But somewhere along the line
you forgot what love is.
And now I'm wondering where all those loopholes went,
and all the times we promised
to get lost in them.
I've spent so many days begging for forgiveness
that I forgot I could
forgive myself.
And now I wonder: Where does hope live?
And does he ever think of me, too?
So I spent my nights,
with lungs waiting motionless.
By now,
they're crumpled and mismatched
with all the wrong crevices.
Because I've always been afraid of forgiveness.
like love is just something that comes and goes.
Something temporary
like ice.
And it's been cutting holes
in my lungs.
I just kept coughing up hope,
until I finally forgot how to breathe.
And you just sat there
and watched me drown.
I got so lost in the dark that I split myself up into stars:
Watched as I fell into fragments,
shedding shells of light.
So I prayed that you would find me.
But somewhere along the line
you forgot what love is.
And now I'm wondering where all those loopholes went,
and all the times we promised
to get lost in them.
I've spent so many days begging for forgiveness
that I forgot I could
forgive myself.
And now I wonder: Where does hope live?
And does he ever think of me, too?
So I spent my nights,
with lungs waiting motionless.
By now,
they're crumpled and mismatched
with all the wrong crevices.
Because I've always been afraid of forgiveness.
Pavement
He doesn't want to live anymore.
Too many nights have been spent
watching smokestacks
cough up smog.
By now
his lungs
are lined with steel,
and his heart
is pumping pollution
to his veins.
He wants to start
breathing again.
But maybe
he is too afraid
to try.
He spent his life believing
trees could sprout
in pavement.
That they could
break foundations
as they exhale
and seep
like veins
through waiting soil.
He watched skyscrapers
spout instead.
And with them,
he climbs.
Casting glances
in search of green.
He is lost now.
Hopelessly falling.
And just as the winds catches him,
he glides,
weightless.
The air cradles him
before casting him off again.
He lands
amongst leaves.
And begins to breath.
Too many nights have been spent
watching smokestacks
cough up smog.
By now
his lungs
are lined with steel,
and his heart
is pumping pollution
to his veins.
He wants to start
breathing again.
But maybe
he is too afraid
to try.
He spent his life believing
trees could sprout
in pavement.
That they could
break foundations
as they exhale
and seep
like veins
through waiting soil.
He watched skyscrapers
spout instead.
And with them,
he climbs.
Casting glances
in search of green.
He is lost now.
Hopelessly falling.
And just as the winds catches him,
he glides,
weightless.
The air cradles him
before casting him off again.
He lands
amongst leaves.
And begins to breath.
We're All Falling
I stated writing
love letters
to the sky.
I just folded them up
into origami
airplanes,
but they sprouted
wings
and left me behind.
My heart has been dropping hail
the color of Sundays,
so I tried
to untie the tangles
forming behind my tongue,
but I got lost
behind my words.
I couldn't convince my heart
to stop
dragging its feet,
so I promised
to start dancing
through riptides
and thunderstorms;
but there were far too many
mud puddles...
I didn't even realize
I was alive
until I started drowning.
And now
the sky's still filled with paper wings,
but pieces of them
keep
falling.
love letters
to the sky.
I just folded them up
into origami
airplanes,
but they sprouted
wings
and left me behind.
My heart has been dropping hail
the color of Sundays,
so I tried
to untie the tangles
forming behind my tongue,
but I got lost
behind my words.
I couldn't convince my heart
to stop
dragging its feet,
so I promised
to start dancing
through riptides
and thunderstorms;
but there were far too many
mud puddles...
I didn't even realize
I was alive
until I started drowning.
And now
the sky's still filled with paper wings,
but pieces of them
keep
falling.
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