A Final Note

Note: Lines stolen almost verbatim from Brothers Karamazov chapter 9. Have you read the book? What do you think of it? Comment and like below!

I look left and right and know
that I am just as they
Another road and turn.
Then the steps up the block.

It was my final wish
To have this paper
To think in a cage
Amidst a spitting crowd.

There is so much time
Alleys, bumps, and pauses.
The time to ascend the stand
The potential pardon.

What should I wear tomorrow?
Time for me to kneel
Will it rain again?
Time for the ax to swing.

They and I are one.
My butcher leaves
all the fat, but
My wife cuts it off.

Death waits not for me
It is readying it’s ax.
But still I cannot think of it.
It’s at the end of this road.

A woman taunted me.
But it’s not matter.
We both have time,
I hold it not against it.

A link to Something happier if you care.

Some Similes

Note: I hate pure angst poetry (because that’s what I used to write…. hehe), so I always try to find a place of solace by the end of the poem. How do you deal with anxiety? What does poetry do for you? Comment and like below!

A thorn in my side

reducing my thoughts

to a pinpoint focus

and until my head’s stuck

Bent to accommodate.

 

Like a dirt in a clam

With layer and layer

of spit to soften the cut

But that little rock remains

Until someone else comes

And that rock is a pearl.

 

An Open Letter to the Sun

(As Written by the Moon)

Note: Occasionally re-posting some of my old favorites. Here’s another recent favorite. Comment and like below!

Dear Helios,

Its been a long while
Since I’ve seen you
Sat by you
Or felt warmed while you
Wile away the hours
Flying across the sky.
Where the hell are you?

The pine trees bend and break under the weight of winter
Because you are away over that horizon.
The forests release their beastly creatures
While you are away over that horizon.
I am surrounded by darkness- and it’s your fault-
people are dying- and it’s your fault-
Because you are snug and comfy,
Far, far away over that fucking horizon

I have seen your brightness
and damn do I miss it
Cause really, it is my ill reflected light that’s casting
Shadows on the shade of this earth
By my lack of light,
Graves lay restless in the abyss,
By my lack of light,
The city streets release their demons,
Haunting this creation
And men stumble amidst the brambles,
By me and my dim reflection.

I’ve tried so hard to shine and
failed. Tried but there’s
An Earth’s worth of dust
And dirt between us.
Plus, time is passing,
My light is waining,
and soon, I’ll let the darkness
in. Let it win when every
Remaining light wisps away.

Dust reflecting onto dust.
This has become the norm
So my eyes have adjusted to the dark.
If you returned, you’d only blind
us, ruin us.
So maybe just don’t come back.

But even as I write this,
Even from up here,
I feel a little warmth in the air.
A red-blue mural beauty is
Forming amidst the clouds in the distance,
a sunrise, forcing even the deepest blackness
To flee and wither to a shadow.

So, I guess I’ll see you soon.

Signed,
The Moon

The Way Less Travelled

Note: strong borrowing from the great Robert Frost and scripture. Comment and like below!

I’d walked for hours and found a fork

The road diverged in two.

He took the one less traveled by

The choice is not that easy.

To the left are trees and plants

A few strewn rocks and dirt.

To the right are shrubs and grass

A sanded path and woods.

For many hours I thought and sweat

But could not near decide

The night grew long, the beast drew close

With panic near I prayed a sigh.

Then behind the trees

A backlit color in the canopy

The clouds pressed up by red

By its light I saw the trail.

The leftward was tempting me

A faint decline. No rugged turns.

A hand to help and bluebirds sang

“Now follow only what you yearn.”

The rightward way was difficult

Rocks on which to stumble

And beggars taking all I had

Until I’m left to ramble.

Your burden’s light

The choice obscure

But test my heart

And lead me there.

Word, Words, Etc

Note: For a far better version of the sentiment in this poem, check out Futile Devices by Sufjan Stevens. Comment on how mine compares below!

Words like an inkless pen

Etched blankly on your heart

Over and over and over

And over I try to write beloved

Onto each vesicle and chamber.

 

Words like an inkless pen,

Good for a prison weapon.

To harm to hurt to pry

To threaten and to riot.

Here they do their work well.

 

But still I write my words

In an inkless script: beloved.