Tag Archives: past

Let’s Give it All

Standard

Let’s pretend, just one moment,
give me a moment
in silly fantasy,
pretend that nothing ever happened,
pretend you always
loved me.

Let’s pretend that there was no one else
as if the world
was barren.
Let’s give it a moment and pretend
that we are now
the two that we have always been.

Let’s give it a moment, spend it a wish
give us a chance to believe everything but this.
Give me a chance, let’s pretend we don’t know,
there was no past, no before.
Let’s give it all.

Let’s pretend
that we were
who we are.
Because who we are,
is perfect.

Even if only to us.

Advertisements

He Almost Kissed Me

Standard

I had a dream he almost kissed me,
as I pulled away, he said he missed me,
As I turned to leave, he tried to stop me
as I walked away, by my arm, he caught me.

He told me he was struggling to figure it out,
confided in me that he had begun to doubt.
Every time, it seemed, that he could turn around
he saw me there, he said, but to honor he was bound.

“Do you not love me?” he asked as if he wondered.
It was an answer I had not seconds to ponder.
I did not love him, will never, he was my blunder
and his deceit to her sent me asunder.

I told him he and I would never be.
He pulled me close and begged for me to see.
I pushed him away and asked he not touch me.
I crossed my arms and waited for him to speak.

He sighed and gazed into my eyes.
Opened his mouth, he asked, “What happened to you and I?”
“We never loved,” I said. “You were just blind.
What was never there cannot simply die.”

I turned my back and allowed a moment to fall.
I walked away and I left it all.
The past, long buried, to Hell with call.
I damned this moment, damned to a fault.

And then I woke to sweet home of old,
these fresh Hells, I was never told.
Illusion, only, that would not hold.
Life would go on, snugly in its mold.

All That Remains

Standard

Been to a Hell
with fiery depths.
Been to the ocean
and almost
drowned myself.
Fell through the hollow
of a lone peasant’s hall.
Captured by posterity
and lost nearly it all.

Forgot where I’d come from,
lost where I’d been.
Followed the road
I’d been back again.
Looked to the west
when the dawn rose behind me,
waited for a cause
and someone new to guide me.

Broke too many rules,
hurt too many hearts.
Waited too long
and tore too many apart.
Lost sight of the truth,
found someone to blame.
And yet, still somehow
only the scars left remain.

Yesterday marked the end of my house arrest. I was finally able to go out in public and be around people, something I haven’t been able to do in weeks because of my transplant surgery. I never knew staying in the house would be so challenging for me, but after a few days, you start to get stir-crazy. For the last couple of years, I’ve spent the summers home alone, but I was allowed to go out with friends pretty much whenever I wanted. This summer, I wasn’t even allowed to do that.

While in reality this is supposed to symbolize the end of my battle with end-stage renal failure, I suppose it could fit many different situations at any given time. So in that light, it’s not about illness. It’s about any hardship that anyone should have to suffer, large and small. Everything.

 

Sins of the Youth

Standard

It had fallen to disrepair.

No amount of plywood or glue
could mask the evil of its use.
No paint could cover the putrid stench
of the blood left cold, a thirst left quenched.
No body, nor mind, nor fool tender at heart
could spend yet a moment without a play in the part.
No secrets left whispered, no vows left unbound,
it had fallen to disrepair, and not a one made a sound.

The sin of the world, closed up behind doors,
secrets of the youth spun on webs like before
with spiders as keepers and snakes as their guards.
Sins of the youth, secrets of the scarred.

It had fallen to disrepair.
And as sins escaped,
no one was left to care.

Unwitting Illusion

Standard

The trees watched us grow,
and the silence sped near,
the moon passed our hide out
year after year.
The sun went down on sorrows
and anger thrown high,
and rain spent the mornings
watching arguments die.

Tables together, our seats beside each,
alone in the world, or so we’d beseech.
Our friends drew us nearer to what I called home,
but as the dawn broke, you left me alone.

Flown high on the swingsets,
jumped into the air,
challenges, obstacles,
trials of error.
Climbed to the top
and took the castle for me,
until my flag was torn
into a dozen pieces.

You took dominance,
demanded I obey,
friends forever, you said,
and then walked away.

The wood and the bark
of the trees in our home,
spent night after night
mournfully alone.
I didn’t return.
Didn’t think it would help,
you left me still standing,
but with little else.

The winds whispered rumors
spread wide through the wood.
Lost faces in tatters
of where we once stood.

A ghost girl with a sigh, a tear in her eye,
watching you walk away
and fissure the night.

And day rose again, and the rumors were true,
it seemed the ghost girl had truly lost you.
But she’s still stand strong, no more tears, no more lies.
If you don’t remember, then neither will I.

The Grass Will Grow

Standard

A shovel deep in stone,
hits bottom
then keeps going.
Tossed aside
the gravel and dirt,
delving deeper into the earth.

Placed in a box
with a tight-locked lid,
demons of another bid.
Forgotten.

Or–to be forgotten.

Passerby look me in the eyes,
and cocks his head to one side.
“Burying the past,”
I tell him.

He understands.

And in a few months,
grass will grow
to cover this new-leased

grave.

Okay, okay, last post of the day. I can’t help it, if I have inspiration, it has to go somewhere, and it just doesn’t seem right to lock it away in a notebook where I will be the only one to see it until I die. Poetry is meant to be seen, to be read, to be heard.

Simple explanation, the narrator is trying to get rid of her past. And in reality, this does work. If you have a particularly bad memory and an object from that moment, if you bury it, it really does give the impression of being more free. Just a thought.