The Deep Black

I stand in the deep black
With only a match to give me light.
Behind me, spotlights and torches burn
Brightly, pointing left and right
But never in my direction.
I call to them, “This way is forward!
We came from back there!”
But they’re too far behind to hear,
And my voice is lost in the echoes
Of their arguments between one another.
I’m left with a decision:
Stand here and call to them,
Hoping they stop bickering and hear,
Or make the arduous trek back
And hope I have the energy
To bring them forward with me.

7/5/12

They Speak of Left and Right

They speak of left and right
While we move in so many dimensions.
Ha! we say.
Ha!
Who are you?
Who are you who would deny us this freedom?
Left and right?
Left and right?
Up. Down. Front. Back. Earlier. Later.
We are all of them.
We are ALL.
Who are you?
Who are you?
We are ALL.
We are all of them.
Up. Down. Front. Back. Earlier. Later.
Left and right?
Left and right?
Who are you who would deny us this freedom?
Who are you?
Ha!
Ha! we say.
While we move in so many dimensions,
They speak of left and right.

Enough

I grow tired of knocking at ivory gates, stooping so low to crawl inside, when I can just as easily bound over the castle in a single leap, blowing horns of victory.

Hail.

Do you hear them singing?

Hail!

And the knocking continues forevermore, but not my bloody knuckles, not on their bloody doors.

Yet still, I blow the victory horns.

Onyxis the Stone

Back again today with a throwback to some of my older work. This is one of my early takes on a modern day fable–this one a retelling of a story you probably recognize. Since I’ve been working on more fables lately I thought I’d share this older one with you. It took me forever to format because WordPress doesn’t like indentations and Google docs doesn’t like poetry–also why I had to take out the line numbers–but it came out legible so here it is.

[And here’s a link to the version with line numbers if you’re into that sort of thing.]

Enjoy.

length: 244 lines

If you enjoyed that, click here for more fables.

Bubbles

"I love bubbles,” I said.
You asked if I really did.
“I mean, who doesn’t?” I shrugged.
“There’s a big difference between like and love.”

Bubbles, when you see them,
Are always shiny and new.
Ephemeral and airy
They blow with every breeze.

Sometimes, you reach out
To touch one
And the wind your movement creates
Blows it further away.

Others, you try to catch
One in your hand.
And maybe you do.
But it pops as soon as it touches you.

There are rumors of those
That’ll stay with you for a time,
But they too pop eventually,
Leaving you covered in sticky debris.

Still, knowing all this,
Being covered in bubble debris,
I can’t help myself but to reach out 
To a beautiful bubble when seen.

In the end
The wind takes them anyway
And even without your touch
They burst into nothingness.