Tag Archives: mirror

Thinking About Forever

Good afternoon, everybody. I’m having a pretty good day today. The things I thought were hard have turned out to be easy, and the things I thought would be easy became the trivial. I will spend the rest of today enjoying the beautiful sun and some time off. I hope the rest of your day, however, will be spent reading all of my wonderful poems. In that regard, I have for you a new development! Please enjoy my latest work. Without further ado…

Infinity

I thought I knew what it was to be cherished,

cared for,

doted on.

I thought I knew what it was to be loved

and I would have died for but a whisper of that

one,

single

idea.

How in my own peculiar way I expected that it would always be so.

But alas,

never was it meant to be.

It was my studying of the minutiae of this great and terrible array of feelings that led me to a single, forlorn conclusion.

I will state it thusly:

There is no such thing as infinity. The train will always hit you when you’re lying on the tracks.

Trying New Things

There’s never a time when trying new things is not exciting. Recently I’ve been trying many new things, as much as possible. I’ve started writing more short stories, or perhaps excerpts of stories based on the influences I see in the world around and the work of others. Personally I think this new one is neat-o. Be warned though, it is pretty gross. Horror warning. Please enjoy.

A Man Would Scream

What am I? Trapped in a hell that feels simultaneously my own and one created by yet another monster, I scream and cry and gasp until that last little bit of air comes out. My words are cut short; my rending howls transform, slowly, into that low, uncompromising, pitiful gurgle. Perhaps if one saw my putrid, broken form, this mass of stinking flesh and hateful decay, perhaps they might believe there is a man left within. They might believe there is something left to save. There is nothing.

I am screaming. I am screaming and yet I have no mouth, no eyes, no face. I am but a featureless mass, resigned to and constrained by a fate which an unjust God has set upon me, only that when it is wolves that descend upon you in the forest do you get to die. The soft, agonizing gurgle they hear coming from this pile of meat that once was me is both my only release and my eternal torment. I do not even know that you are there.

For all eternity, it must be remembered. Those sins which I have done. Those evils which I have wrought, piercing me over and over like a Tailor who just can’t get the patch right. There is no penance for the deeds I count among mine. I deserve this. I deserve to suffer.

Leave me be, for I am not a man.

The Sleep

Good morning, all. I’ve got a short poem for everybody today. Let me know what you think and please enjoy!

The Sleep

The light of his eyes

escapes

and wanders through you,

venturing through all those many layers

of your most precious soul,

finding lamps that light the winding path

that leads around a gentle knoll.

It searches along

meandering paths

into all your nooks and crannies,

working your mistakes

and knowing all those things it takes

to truly see the heart that breaks.

You rest with him in sleep that wakes.

Tired?

Good morning, everyone! I wake up yet again, a wonderful blessing to have all my faculties and the light of the sun to wake up to. It is that light of the sun being reflected in the eyes of one so blessed that I write about today. Don’t forget that if you’d like to donate and support my work, links for that are on my “About” page. It really helps me keep writing and putting out the unique content you’ve come to know me for. Please enjoy the poem, friends.

The Sleep

The light of his eyes

escapes

and wanders through you,

venturing through all those many layers

of your most precious soul,

finding lamps that light the winding path

that leads around a gentle knoll.

It searches along

meandering paths

into all your nooks and crannies,

working your mistakes

and knowing all those things it takes

to truly see the heart that breaks.

You rest with him in sleep that wakes.

Much Ado About What To Do

Welcome back! My first post in July. A crazy month, it’s been. I have been busy at work and trying to center myself which of course are both massive time-sinks. I hope everyone has had a wonderful few weeks despite my absence from that little corner of your mind I usually occupy. Please enjoy the poem today! This one is a new favorite of mine.

A Real Boy

Falling through into the floor

and open there below, a door

that lies beneath the writhing ground

all atop the burial mound.

Inconceivable,

a child

never born

and never made

without a mother,

but some other.

It haunts and taunts,

lies and cries,

hears and speaks

as a child would,

as children do…

Eyes of glass

and flesh of polymer,

but listen as it speaks

for it opens the door that creaks.

Listen as its blood,

from the windows of its soul,

leaks.

Believe the truth.

The boy but says

those things which are his.

All those things

which have always been

and will always be

His.

Perhaps you’ll show him some compassion

as you listen to his story?

To know the things that you can know

as you sink down deeper and deeper below?

He only wants to help.

He does not know who you are!

…

Perhaps you are the monster in the dark?