Falling Branches.

 

A branch fell down today, carried off by

the wind?

Or was it the weight of life

bearing downwards a moment too long,

breaking its ability to hold on?

It fell slowly but loudly whispered,

demanding my attention, and so I paid.

The leaves fluttered, excited

to meet the ground.

The grass! Their unknown, distant cousins embraced

some of them, yet some of them

were still born aloft by the natural way of

the branches.

They had to wait their turn.  Warmth found them all

as the sun shadowed them with light;

they wait until night to begin life anew.

The thoughts of the natural world are –

or aren’t they?

Perhaps I’ve been staring outside for too long.

Advertisements

Back to the Old Haunt.

Let spirits sacrifice themselves at once,

Fresh ghosts delay the making of a dunce.

Hist’ry’s silhouettes bow into the dark

as tombstones crumble ‘fore love’s solemn mark.

~

What love is deep as wells in which death dwells?

Bodies of the slain piled on clouds above

paint out seven portraits for seven hells –

each one more lacking in art than in love.

~

Before the clock has finished its ticking,

may we stop and stare fast into the ground.

Who knows what rising tides come trickling

when tears of the hope-lost turned joyous found?

~

Sound a cry! The fury calls before the dawn;

its age-old custom torn away.

When forced silence reigns in a beating heart’s song

and there are left no more words to say.

Roads Traveled.

I’ve walked a shadow’s dance,

a letter’s prance, a mountain’s trance.

Lances, shattered spiral twirls,

fallen stars that sunshine hurls,

poppy meadows deign to bellow

melodies of churches yellow.

A song of sorrow for tomorrow,

dancing sprite a heart did borrow.

Pardon me, the ride’s at three,

I have not paid the rainbow fee!

Time to eat a panda’s meat,

filled with fury, tasty heat –

in a hurry, speak the worry

as I run to seek the meek.

Sky High.

I’ve dreams retained from yonder times

beyond the sun and seven skies.

Of scrolls that stretch from east to west

and ink that fills whatever’s left.

Soft sheets of ice drift this way

beyond the time we call Today.

And soon they melt into love’s tears,

burned by nights of lonely fears.

Hearts split by shrill yells of crowds

as summertime pierces through the clouds.

Clouds, comprised of purest dreams,

engulf the final teary streams,

never to flow again.

Kindling.

Click clack keyboards take the lead as the pillowed purple is couched upon the bed.  Roars of crowds, strangers unknown to the world as the building is unhinged, green is helping out as the shrill repeats itself.  A mirthless chuckle escapes as they have seen a lot tonight.  The darkness swallows the hunger as famished souls crave the thrill of curry.  The fourth quarter is dropped as the ball is given up.  Sounds of the environment swirl around as thoughts are incapable of being drawn out, only the sounds of the other, sounds unwanted and undesired, sounds that are not of my own mind, but of my surroundings.  The question of what I am doing is something that I don’t have the answer to all the time, as a lack of marbles is squawked about in the room.  The warmth of the bed is comforting as the bead of sweet is coming down upon the forehead, forever forgotten by the skin as the air receives it. The falcon, the crack, the snippets of life’s thoughts and actualities are refreshingly mundane.  A soreness in the left forearm dissipates, as with all things, as time draws on.  Time is simply an excuse to excuse the tardiness of the world’s expectations, expecting to excuse the lack of excuses that expect forgiveness.  And so the world spins around, time in one hand, space in the other as the ball rolls onto into the oblivion of infinite infinity, chorus sounding as the kingdom presses on, willing to reveal itself to the mindless and the mindful, the thirsty and the ones who have no thirst, for they are slaked in the present age.  Ages of people across the world await the anticipated amelioration of life as they know it, yet they willingly gaze into the eyes of death, forlorn souls without reason or breadth of knowledge, yet speaking with the wisdom of pastures.  The river runs on, unknowingly drenching the passionate with sorrow.

Change.

As I glumly sat behind the wheel of my minivan a few days ago, I began reflecting on things.  This prompted me to remain still at a green light, leading to the expected honking of people upset with the lack of action in their own lives.  However, the thing I began musing on was about how much I’ve changed.  I began thinking about my winter break and what I would be doing with it, and I came to the point where I reminisced on how I spent them in the past.  The realization settled on me when I discovered that I no longer enjoyed staying home alone and doing solitary things, like reading for hours.  It was a bitter moment actually; part of the blame was on college and how the forced interaction somehow stole a bit of my personality, dissipating any desire I had to be alone.  The need for human contact was, in a way, a crippling inability to exist and entertain myself independently.  However, the moment was fleeting when I began reflecting on my spiritual life as of now.  I began seeing that I had always been blessed with an ability to communicate fairly well with others – the exterior reserved, awkward, aloofness was the only thing that made me unable to reach out to others.  Now, I find myself in an internal skirmish come social gatherings; do I continue on with my newfound self, much of which has changed drastically, or do I let my old personality refresh itself.  It’s a question that I find harder and harder to answer with each meeting of old friends.  My life now is filled with God because of the environment that He’s placed me in, and yet, I’m not sure how it would be reflected if I did some of the things I used to do in order to get along with my old friends.  I have since limited my swearing exponentially, normally catching myself before saying them, but it was that casual usage of it that seemed to let me “fit in.”  All of this reflection is beginning to wear me out, so I guess I’ll just finish with a reminder that the true friends of mine won’t mind, and that as long as this new change doesn’t reflect my human judgment of my old friends but God’s love for them, I should be alright in the end.

Dreams Gone By.

Fluttering wings span just short of highlands,

iceborne shards of fast-slicing firebrands.

October leaves drift as melancholy blooms,

leaving behind trace memories it consumes.

A sigh of autumn wind, blowing by the ear

as realization soon hits; it’s almost been a year.

Time spent awake at times felt like a dream –

Yet what dreams came upon unraveling seams?

A blink of an eye is

the flash of a year’s life

Purge.

Elephants stained pink in brittle costume, garland adorned abominations acting as if apathetic to the appalling ambience.  Silent nights weeping over spilled water, thirty cents a gallon until it runneth over or stops shy by quite a lot.  Green screen screaming out of right corner’s view, yellow streak blazing through to the end of sight.  A red cup stands vigil next to the clarifier of windows, screen protecting the blue substance from liquifying into reality.  Ossification of thoughts run rampant from nearly a year’s time of madness, ecstasy, and confusion.  Abandonment reigns supreme amidst the chairs and couches in the dying room.  Living sounds churning from yonder, not sure what’s right when only one is left, pain of aching quality presides within the shoulder.  A breath is drawn in, chest rising, stomach swelling, blink, blink, can’t seem to think.  Two white spray-bottles hard standing fast next to decapitator of autumn melons, discarded after malevolent carvings.  A screen that once displayed now reflects, music to my eyes is silence in my ears upon a cream couch.  Red stocking limply sagging upon a beige flatland, vertically placed if standing straight.  White board turned color board with age and disuse, impossible to refurbish and burnish anew.  Itch forms below the line of sight and is swiftly rubbed once, twice.  Tiredness forms in the forearm from resting, impossibly thin paper thoughts shredding through the secondary wave of rub rub.  Sniff, rub. Blink, blink, blink.  Tears form from what? Not sadness, no one is sad here.  There is nothing to think about, but the whole world of time past to lose and to mourn, to expect exultation in the new thought that the rest want to impose.  The lone fighter howls into the wind of sands’ time, echoes lost to the ages of gnashing of teeth and murderers of crows.  The complicated history of a compounded memory strives to knife the back of a foe, back roll into a thresh of wheat, golden grained hair suave boasting in the wind – success.  What is going through the hows and whys of living, where none have tread softly and all have trampled hearts below, thinking them hard marble but were actually marshmallows.  Lamb silence terrifies the living, dying breathe in anticipation of the new souls captured for feasting upon the twisted, tormented wave of delight.  Entropy rains down upon the order, chaos manipulated by disaster until sound is stopped.  The washing is done and the drying begins.  Oh, there it begins again.  Five more minutes.  Scratch scratch.  Awkward interlocutor realizes that he is alone, talking to himself.  Lies, deceptions, theories, hopes, all dashed to flint by ignited passion, candle wicks burning with forlorn melancholy.  The fire rises until smoke evacuates the dying and overwhelms the living, passing time into hourglasses of sand and streams of falling water.  Gravity runs no course here for stretched hours become years of experiential catastrophe, blowing a nose seems like a good way to pass the seconds.  Thirds of birds flaunt themselves in front of others, yearning for recognition of some kind of cycle stopped.  Or has it just paused.  The water is still running, not quite over yet, the drying will commence soon.  Biting cold alerts of emails appearing in the right hand corner, thunderbirds screeching out a line of ten, stools reminiscing on all the ends of those they’ve known.  Desperation floods the dry cracks of tin, rubber under plastic as a new life begins.  Shaking white by force on the keys, locked up memories stored within random phrases of words, never to see light of day until day is grey and gone to sleep.  Coughing coffins belch out tunes of dirges turned melodies, sunrays lighting up the night sky through moons of envy and stars of shame.  How warm it is outside.

Wait What.

I don’t know what’s going through my head right now.  I thought I could do it, but it seems like the clicking clacking and what am I typing and listening to.  Thoughts in my head that want to her get out but I don’t know why is this what am I doing get them out.  Feelings that make me want to burst forth in tears are sniff sniff cough I can’t get the tears flowing.  I’ve changed, my heart is different now, not quite as emotional as before.  Or maybe I’m just tired and I want to take a nap. Vzzzz Vzzzz. Green light cell phone text message.  Whispers from another room are heard Brian? Or maybe Mike.  What am I going to do about Mrs. Dalloway?  Going to miss BJJ tomorrow, should I go Friday by myself? Fishing thursday.  Fishing.  Need to buy squid this time for bait.  Maybe I’ll land another big one.  Luke, Wang sisters, Joseph.  Where are they now, I wonder?  I don’t know what is going on back home, but I hope everything is okay.  Everything is screaming for one I know stop I’m getting over it, it doesn’t even make sense for it to be like this.  Sigh. Pause.  The door opens and look who is coming in.  It’s Vivian and they’re late, they’re late.  I don’t know why you came so early but I’m going to go back to blogging and nice you brought plates.  Half hearted laughs.  The rushing of water filling the bottle, the increasing frequency of familiarity.  I should probably stop blogging soon because I can’t hold a conversation and yeah William forgot it and yeah.

Whispers in the Rain.

The clouds are grey and sunshine swept

by stormy brooms and brooding wind.

A tempest raging ‘gainst one who sinned,

the only one in the world not kept.

Security of a mystery so blind,

the drops shatter eyelids of the broken.

Tears shed from high, grace not a token

to trade with a maelstrom brewing unkind.

Soft voice, made hoarse with quivering;

emotion pours forth with drizzling pain.

Eyes lifted up to see what I could gain

A heart, made warm, to all delivering.