Categories
Prose

Momentary lapse in concentration

I'm sorry for the way
my brisk stride disturbs
the settled atmosphere
of the air around me.

The air did nothing to deserve that.

I felt lost until you found me,
then I left before I could
find myself. 

Now there isn't a leaf, blown 
carelessly onto the pavement, 
that I couldn't disturb with
the weight of my heavy shuffling.

How worthy is a master carpenter
without a developed taste for
art in their work? 

I'd rather be the architect-
at least then you'd be 
immortalized in my imagination,
instead of the cause of momentary
lapses in my concentration.

Categories
Prose

I cannot write any more

I cannot write any more;
every time my pen
touches paper, it catches fire-
I cannot contain it.

My words glow, then crackle,
then burst alight- for too long
I’ve been riding through this
tunnel, writing, waiting for
the light.

I think of new ways
to repackage old statements,
I’m tired of writing and
I’m tired of feeling weightless.
I hate this. I can taste it.

I cannot write any more
since every time I write,
my words protrude from the
page like
hot daggers and knives.
They pierce me like the way
ink penetrates paper.

The fire used to feel warm
until it grew with my words
and cornered me into
needing to be heard;
the fire used to feel warm until
it burned me to my core.

I’m mesmerized by the flames-
my words animated in smoke;
I cannot write any more,
for I’m fearful that I'll choke.

I write to immortalize
such thoughts and feelings,
but the fire has grown-
it now reaches the ceiling.

I cannot write any more,
the fire scorches my hand;
there isn't much more
I could withstand.

I cannot write any more.
Categories
Prose

The ventriloquist of hearts

If I had a superpower, I would

want to be the ventriloquist of hearts.

I’d want the power to latch onto others and

ail their aching hearts with a tug;

I’d want to mend their cracks with my strings.

I’d fell the greatest tyrants, and court the

purest hearts to my favor.

I’d latch onto my own, but with chains

instead of thin, frail, fragile strings;

I’d cover my heart with chains so I

could feel every palpitation that breathes

life into my vessels.

I would protect my heart with those chains

and it would be impenetrable- a

fortress of contentment in solitude,

a beacon of love that I would savor all

for myself.

Categories
Prose

Facing Mirrors

Take me back in time to the place my forefathers used to visit; the waterfall they’d rest at for peace, or the forest spot between the trees.

Take me back in time to a place where I was too at peace- before the vicious tides of fate increased- take me back before my fate ceases.

But if I can’t go back I may as well take a forward step- I’ll draw my strength from great depths; I’ll draw my strength from inside like drawing blood- I’ll draw my strength outside like people are drawn on a beautiful, hot summer day.

I’ve tried counting breaths and sensing my surroundings- perhaps I’m trying all the wrong things.

All I know is I must keep moving forward- all I know is this strength is growing.

I’m trained for this after so many years; my strength lies in facing my fears- I’ll have to face the man in the mirror.