Short PoemsI received a vision last night From the Goddess. In it I saw myself, My lover, My friend. My heart leapt for joy in finding him, Ending my lonely days. But it lasted only a brief fleeting instant. Now I am alone, Pondering when my love will come. A woman who lived near Sears Tower One morning decided to shower. The man ‘cross the way Filmed her skyclad all day, And now she’s the light of his hour. Always knew that I did something wrong, But I never quite pegged what it was. I went through life with too many heartaches, I never tried to fix them. I never really wanted to. But that was the tragic downfall, The unfortunate end to which I was brought- I have 20/20 hindsight. I can always see what I should have done. Bright colors flash in the sunlight, Sunlight of a forgotten world. Worlds end in a heartbeat, Beating on the drums of insanity Insanely trying to recapture youth. Youthful grace and beauty lost in a maze of time, Time tells a tale for each of us to learn from. From this point on the tale is up to us to tell, To tell the truth, it's a story that no one wants to recite, So the Recital is audienceless, and ignored for all time. Time flees when all is bright. Beauty, The fleeting glimpse of perfection Is scorned in the new hierarchy. Society shuns its unobtainable And rejoices in the reality of its children. Perfection is rejected and unwanted here – It has no place to call home anymore. The children are not ashamed of their faults, But rather are proud of them. It is what makes them unique. The children of the hierarchy rejoice At their individuality And mock the would-be idols of Society’s past. The full moon Echoes the beauty Of past lives lost to The blazes of passion. A simple glance That risked the whole of existence Brought an end to the thrill of pain. Design your perfect material world where everything you see is rationed into perfectly predictable packages prefabricated for a new millennium and collected by divine mandate as decreed by billions of years of history drawn out into countless pages of text for the ages of humanity’s loss in society’s hierarchy of power and seduction and then lost in the drama of beauty where we dwell by force and choose to ignore the wrongs of so many unjust decisions made too quickly on a dark night absent of hope and dreams Round the knot and past the bend, Find me where the colors blend. Through the hole and round again, Look past where I left a friend. Over this and under that, Never check where last I sat. Twisting round in summer’s heat, Not far from the body’s beat. Distant kin to Rainbow’s hue, Beauty is my only due. Barely known to where I live, Having love with none to give. The rapid centuries Pass me in a second, Never looking back on History’s unwanted daughter. I am as a newborn child, Unknowing, uncaring, Blind to the beauty and wonder around me. I am here as a testament to my own will, Remaining trapped for all eternity In a loophole in the timestream – An example of injustice, An example of hatred, An example of neglect. But it is not a burden. I am alone, enjoying the blissful solitude Of my exile. One line. Everything always starts with One simple line. The trick of it is to follow The line down to its completion, To not quit the road halfway down Even though it’s so Tantalizingly simple To hear the jibes, Follow the insults, And ignore all the hard-won truths. If only everything could be As simple as that One line. Move on. It’s only the past. Move on. It’s only a shadow of what you were. Nothing of this is what you are. This isn’t what you’ve become, Isn’t what you’ve told yourself to be. Move on. This isn’t what you want from life. Move on. It’s not the sort of thing I do. Forcing one and five to two. Making Tuesday Wednesday Just to appease others Lost In their own stubborn ways. Sometimes I can’t see past the haze. It’s not the sort of thing I do. Making others give their due. I don’t want their sorry life Or the things they offer me. They’re lost In their own stubborn ways. Sometimes I can’t see past the haze. Marble of a world Insignificant in its turnings Unwittingly ignored by all Its passersby. Dismissed as a stripling, And twice as scorned, Never understanding the pity forsaken. Alone again Lost on the path with nothing left. Forgotten again Never told of importance or worth. On my own again As always when I leave my security. It always comes back. I’m alone again. Summer speaks of |
