Undercurrents
The truth often lies beneath the surface.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Bound
The gifts are missing and
the evidence has all
but disappeared into
the pockets of a trickster
and his friends, without amend.
In the light of discovery
the emptiness was viewed
but then ignored, as many
who had witnessed became
bored, with their discord.
A claim was forbidden
and those who held opinion
faded back into the corners
and the hollows marked by
fear, and would not hear.
I was bound to stumble,
I was bound to equate
triumph with redemption
and all the tiny ravers
said “amen, so be it then”
But Not For You
You may judge me when
you’ve been sequestered
and immobilized by fear
With every thought a plea
for welfare or survival
You may tell me that
this too shall pass if you
have made the journey
safely out of crushing darkness
to a place of sanctuary
You may hear this if you feel
your heart could break at
any moment for the ones
who suffer thus without relief
but not for you
Depression
Movement is slow. Thoughts take position and remain for hours,
surrounded by nascent, scurrying demiurges signaling destruction.
The stuckness of it feels overwhelming.
No forward yearning , no backward insight.
Hung...
and
hung...
and
hung...
Till falling, failing, welcomes darkness.
Best of Luck
She’s acting fearless again.
Withholding her drab secret,
two cigarettes burning at once.
Her eyes seem tired and distant
without her usual battered grin.
As if she'd been struck too often
by ambiguous verbal jabs.
Holding on to confidence that’s
slipping from her mind like
marbles falling through the broken
corner of a sopping paper sack.
She’s restored when she’s alone.
She settles into partial comfort
and compares the risk of loving
with memories of consequence.
When I come by to see her,
I taste sugar on her tongue.
I feel the space that she’s allowed
for my unspoken misconceptions.
She’s not as fragile as she looks.
And because her heart creates
the now belonging that I seek,
I find I miss her.
Anxiety
Jiggling, bouncing, scraping bottom
sensing nuance moving faster than
the mind can comprehend.
Along and weaving in and out of
dreadful, flashing, ghostly patterns
pooled in depths left unexplored.