PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Sometimes, I realize how different I am.

A shape that doesn't fit into any one particular place

Odd man out

When I look back on how versatile I've always been

Lots of different cliques, not a singular type of friend

Expending everything I have to be someone people want to talk to

But for what?

What am I searching for?

I can identify so many beautiful things that I have

In real life

A short few people who actually love me, for me

When I need them, they come through

In depth long conversation

Or just a simple cup of coffee because they're near

These are tried and true relationships

Sometimes I realize how different I am.

The tallest tree in the forest, towering above those who directly surround her

Or the tiniest grain of sand, undifferentiated, lost in an endless desert

So much the same, but uniquely separate in perspective

Nothing better, nothing worse

Just different...

If I had the choice to be somene else, in another place, another position

I wouldn't think twice before turning it down

I realize this isolation is an opportunity to turn myself around

I was once lost, and once again I will be found

I know I won't find myself in the struggle of another

So, I'll stop attempting to drown myself in the company of others

The silence, the absence, the willingness to be with me

The effort, The choice, The solace

It's become my sole necessity

After the thunder

Comes the rain

After a blow

Comes the pain

After it’s done

Comes the shame

You shouldn’t have done it

Brother Cain

Did you not know

That death is hungry

Did you not know

It always needs

Did you not know

It’s never full

Didn’t you know

It eats him who feeds

Cursed are you

For killing your brother

Start life anew

Far from another

Marked is your forehead

So you’ll never forget

Your feet feel like lead

Death feeds on you yet

Why does the sky cry

When I’m crying

Why does the wind howl

As I’m dying

Why do the animals whimper

As I bleed

Why is it so cold

When death feeds?

Squelched upon the city blocks in memory and tandem;
Marion brings heel to rock and bleeds her bugs at random.
Dragging metric two ton cubes of pulsing, breathing black
that stain the ground and dripping down, corrode it 'til it cracks;
she's moving toward the faintest stir - she'd heard there was a show,
and wants to stand with clapping hands among the rest who'd known.
Her tarry brings her, carried in, to village crown and aisle,
where her cubes in grandiose were caught upon the stile,
and patrons cradled at her back and allowed their shouts to shrill,
while Marion could do no more than pull against her will.
People climbed and stepped upon her head and both her shoulders,
brandishing their anger towards these squares and their beholder.
Marion could only weep aloud while lunging forth in vain
as the metal traps affixed and bound would root her tow in place.
The roar of strings alive with sound cut through the furnace air
and through the sour passage came a blissful thoroughfare.
Marion was left alone to tend to her detainment;
her solitude emboldened by the frenzy she'd engaged in.
Her eyes were still alight with tears, her bugs began their chime;
and soon she would depart between the folds that crease in time.
The music played in fervor wound with crowd alive and swaying,
but Marion was rooted here with no real point remaining.
Stratus breached, her weights aloft, devoured by the folds;
she reached into the quaking rift with hands gone rotten, cold.
Into this familiar place with stillness she had missed,
Marion did settle in with a subtle, wing-tipped kiss,
and as she drowsed beneath the proud vibrations of her kin,
she dreamt of looming venues and her skin made genuine.

I want to drown in another.
Immerse myself to my chin and
slowly, at a pace, submerge
with only the crown of my head
peaking at the surface.

I want to know the songs
she sings, and remember all
the lyrics, so that I may join in.

I want to be her wishing
well, devoid of any cost beyond
the kindness of her company,
her grip affixed in mine.

I want to be an amulet,
well for worn and compliments,
held at each and every turn
when she's in need of sturdiness,
and a source of endless love.

I want to be her man of
pride, a light to hang from rafters.
Her words would lift and carry,
and I would need no aid.

I want to be looked forward to,
a wanted thing in all,
who's long on thought and not
forgotten, when the days
come called.

I want to be a final word
in a faithful sentence that
completes a happy dialogue,
one that I'd return.

I want to be an equal half
and act as two together.
If and when we separate,
I want to be
engulfed by the sorrow.

Do you feel a certain way when looking at the waves
along a cozy coastline that’s lined with fleets of shells?
You sort of settle vacantly, transfixed and more relaxed
than you’d been a moment past, before you saw the sea.
Or maybe in the curving arm and bending claw of smoke
that rises from your lips or from your very fingertips,
and pollutes the air with essence of a mass production.
We long to build a cherished lift that keeps us held above,
away from all uncertainty, accompany the clouds;
pretend that all the muddled words that reach us from below
are cheers of our exaltation and our place earned in the sky.
And there we’d see nothing but the sea and clouds
that look like stray and wayward-billowed
stacks of smoke, lost to what they’d only known
and their only sense of right and home.
Our smiling and fattened faces would open
and grin with bright and glaring teeth,
lost in the exhaust of lift to elevated gold,
eventually sleeping most of the day away.