Crevasse
I plan on probably posting another entry or two later (possibly including a soundtrack of songs that have to do with my mom), but for now I wanted to share something short that I wrote this week. I've been venting a bit of unfiltered angst out in private entries (I haven't decided if I want to make any of it public yet), and somewhere along the line I crapped out some poetry. Or stream of consciousness blathering, if you will. Whichever. But here it is.
For those curious, the title comes from this vid. Don't look too deeply for a connection though; it's only loosely related at best.
---
There's a dead quietness deep within,
reaching down
all the way
to where the screaming starts.
See, the silence knows
there aren't any words
loud enough
to drown it all out.
So it draws a thick line of chalk
between the two camps
and sits itself down.
It has no place to be.
The sun is gone.
There is no end in sight.
Those who remember
try & point to where it once was
and turn slowly in circles,
chasing their feet.
They beat on the ground
with bloody fists.
They call out its name,
demanding its return.
Distant stars bear witness,
already gone--
their echoing light a mere trick on the mind.
They advise a surrender,
one final eclipse,
our last
of these secret supernovas.
It shouldn't be.
But hope is only
what we made of it,
they say.
That is all,
this & the rest;
a hollow fate,
a violent hush,
frustrations burrowing
beneath the moon.
Please pause with me here,
and we'll wait it out.
Since we cannot say goodbye,
we'll embody it instead.
We'll be figures
bent like question marks
forgotten on the page.
Still plotting course for the horizon,
this road leads nowhere
at all.
On the count of twelve,
open your eyes;
I know it hurts to look.
Just mind your step
before you fall.
The bottom
will not save you.
---
For those curious, the title comes from this vid. Don't look too deeply for a connection though; it's only loosely related at best.
---
There's a dead quietness deep within,
reaching down
all the way
to where the screaming starts.
See, the silence knows
there aren't any words
loud enough
to drown it all out.
So it draws a thick line of chalk
between the two camps
and sits itself down.
It has no place to be.
The sun is gone.
There is no end in sight.
Those who remember
try & point to where it once was
and turn slowly in circles,
chasing their feet.
They beat on the ground
with bloody fists.
They call out its name,
demanding its return.
Distant stars bear witness,
already gone--
their echoing light a mere trick on the mind.
They advise a surrender,
one final eclipse,
our last
of these secret supernovas.
It shouldn't be.
But hope is only
what we made of it,
they say.
That is all,
this & the rest;
a hollow fate,
a violent hush,
frustrations burrowing
beneath the moon.
Please pause with me here,
and we'll wait it out.
Since we cannot say goodbye,
we'll embody it instead.
We'll be figures
bent like question marks
forgotten on the page.
Still plotting course for the horizon,
this road leads nowhere
at all.
On the count of twelve,
open your eyes;
I know it hurts to look.
Just mind your step
before you fall.
The bottom
will not save you.
---