Five (5) new poems
The Strength of a Scarred Soul
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” -Kahlil Gibran
Torture must be absolute and complete
In order for relief to be satisfactory.
The reverse speculum of my eyes
Captures black and white and every color in between
As they roll by in the film that must one day end.
Voodoo stigmata bursts forth from the skin.
Truly one day we will emerge from the cave of suffering,
But until then these human pursuits shall have to suffice.
Ghosts breathe in synchronicity with their terrestrial Doppelgängers
Even while they too still breathe,
But now the ghost is coming down as the cold seeps from underneath the doors.
Specter, we shall meet at the railway coffeehouse.
I do not know what to expect at that point
But it is my sacred duty to unlock the complications of life.
Snow
The snow came and blew the sadness away.
Finally the skies are rich
And the mirror is faithful
And names true.
Fish swim in pairs through the library of the ocean
In my brain that has dreamed the sweetest dream.
The blinding light reflects the possibility of love
Which while slender still cries out with elated tears,
Telling me to go on through this world
And vanquish the demons
Who would put me in a psychological coffin.
The Unreliability of Psychic Telephony
Your image floats in and out of my mind
Like a telephone unanswered,
Words never spoken drifting in between reality
And imagination.
Somewhere on the other end of the line
Lies elusive happiness,
But the operator cannot connect me
For fear that this spark will ignite a fire
And the world will burn from pole to pole.
Hiding behind pseudonyms,
Businessmen and artists traverse the city.
Shall you return like a bird to the nest?
You are so close yet so far away,
And the messages I have left
On your mystic answering machine
Have all turned to dust.
I am screening the call of love
To ensure that there is a voice coming through.
Otherwise my life will be filled with nothing but silence
Until I lie eternally silent in an austere cemetery,
Passersby holding their breath as they walk above.
The Velvet Curtain
The story is over before it got a chance to begin.
The ruined city is shaded with veiled goodbyes,
Filled with irreparably broken hearts in their wounded breasts.
There are just a few drops of dream left in the decanter
Glowing translucent into the empty attic,
And how audacious to imagine satisfaction.
You can read between the lines for a warning
But when the hammer falls it will be too late.
I am far too frail for these matters.
The road ends abruptly at the face of a cliff
And I am falling swiftly through the sky;
The rail line has reached its destination.
As long as the climax to this novel lies hidden
Behind the velvet curtain,
I follow the turns in the boulevard
Hoping that it will lead to the ocean
Instead of another wall of fog.
Phases
(for Cheerio)
The evidence of suffering is inadmissible
In the court of archangels,
And thus man crawls tentatively
Out of the womb of the earth.
A new beginning comes from the origin of all life,
A future that cannot be predicted by any soothsayer.
A royal name portends adventure
From the hilt of the sword to the tip of the blade.
It’s up to you, little one, to fill the storybook
With faces and names and memories.
Through all the phases of the moon,
Through every season,
Each decade of the millennium,
You will bravely chase your shadow
Down the fairy tale brick boulevard.
Like a pen that suddenly appears
To jot down the heartaches and aspirations
Of an entire race,
The clean slate of a new mind will be there
To record the goings-on of this circus of humanity,
And to annotate it with the innocence and wisdom
Of a newborn sea,
Ready to lap gently over the beach of time
And leave its tiny footprints.
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” -Kahlil Gibran
Torture must be absolute and complete
In order for relief to be satisfactory.
The reverse speculum of my eyes
Captures black and white and every color in between
As they roll by in the film that must one day end.
Voodoo stigmata bursts forth from the skin.
Truly one day we will emerge from the cave of suffering,
But until then these human pursuits shall have to suffice.
Ghosts breathe in synchronicity with their terrestrial Doppelgängers
Even while they too still breathe,
But now the ghost is coming down as the cold seeps from underneath the doors.
Specter, we shall meet at the railway coffeehouse.
I do not know what to expect at that point
But it is my sacred duty to unlock the complications of life.
Snow
The snow came and blew the sadness away.
Finally the skies are rich
And the mirror is faithful
And names true.
Fish swim in pairs through the library of the ocean
In my brain that has dreamed the sweetest dream.
The blinding light reflects the possibility of love
Which while slender still cries out with elated tears,
Telling me to go on through this world
And vanquish the demons
Who would put me in a psychological coffin.
The Unreliability of Psychic Telephony
Your image floats in and out of my mind
Like a telephone unanswered,
Words never spoken drifting in between reality
And imagination.
Somewhere on the other end of the line
Lies elusive happiness,
But the operator cannot connect me
For fear that this spark will ignite a fire
And the world will burn from pole to pole.
Hiding behind pseudonyms,
Businessmen and artists traverse the city.
Shall you return like a bird to the nest?
You are so close yet so far away,
And the messages I have left
On your mystic answering machine
Have all turned to dust.
I am screening the call of love
To ensure that there is a voice coming through.
Otherwise my life will be filled with nothing but silence
Until I lie eternally silent in an austere cemetery,
Passersby holding their breath as they walk above.
The Velvet Curtain
The story is over before it got a chance to begin.
The ruined city is shaded with veiled goodbyes,
Filled with irreparably broken hearts in their wounded breasts.
There are just a few drops of dream left in the decanter
Glowing translucent into the empty attic,
And how audacious to imagine satisfaction.
You can read between the lines for a warning
But when the hammer falls it will be too late.
I am far too frail for these matters.
The road ends abruptly at the face of a cliff
And I am falling swiftly through the sky;
The rail line has reached its destination.
As long as the climax to this novel lies hidden
Behind the velvet curtain,
I follow the turns in the boulevard
Hoping that it will lead to the ocean
Instead of another wall of fog.
Phases
(for Cheerio)
The evidence of suffering is inadmissible
In the court of archangels,
And thus man crawls tentatively
Out of the womb of the earth.
A new beginning comes from the origin of all life,
A future that cannot be predicted by any soothsayer.
A royal name portends adventure
From the hilt of the sword to the tip of the blade.
It’s up to you, little one, to fill the storybook
With faces and names and memories.
Through all the phases of the moon,
Through every season,
Each decade of the millennium,
You will bravely chase your shadow
Down the fairy tale brick boulevard.
Like a pen that suddenly appears
To jot down the heartaches and aspirations
Of an entire race,
The clean slate of a new mind will be there
To record the goings-on of this circus of humanity,
And to annotate it with the innocence and wisdom
Of a newborn sea,
Ready to lap gently over the beach of time
And leave its tiny footprints.