The World

Mother is being pulled by the hair,
When we breach her cells, we throw our hands up,
We surrender her unto the dead among us.
We do not fight because we are numb.

When will he arrive from the mountains?
A homemade Jesus, covered in dirt,
Walking slowly, giving us a chance,
Before he arrives, to give us the truth.

How much more blood will surge?
A waterfall to fill a pool of hatred,
We feed the beast, it hungers for more,
Oh Jesus, speed, we are in need of wisdom.

A human dies and we ferociously lament,
A species goes extinct, and we shrug.
We melt the world, our ground is shrinking,
We cannot stop for fear of being thrown off.

Surely she will take back her domain,
As I listen to the knife sing, I hear her,
A static hiding behind every cohesive sound,
Begging me to stop and listen, beneath the leaves.

We blind her with smoke, suffocate her.
We scrape the minerals from her bones,
We suck the oil from her veins,
We burn her hair to plant our own seeds.

I can hear her scream, through the static,
A woman passes my window, wearing heels,
They click to the beat of Mother’s rapid breaths,
This woman is unaware and continues on.

Deep within the silent scream I find myself,
Another one of her children, made from flesh.
We live only because we were chosen; we hold life.
Yet we murder our mother, we are condemned.

As I run against a million faces and words,
I cry out, but nobody hears me,
The sound of coins falling catches all ears,
They swarm towards it, I run away.

Other children fight for her, ignoring the mechanisms,
Of the machine that reaches higher and higher,
The machine calls my clock everyday to drag me,
From my bed, I allow these things, I feel helpless.

Memorabilia

Signs across the street from my house,
Bright yellow, lines and word, yield.
Who are these signs for?
They are, after all, outside of MY home.

I fall into a cup full of memories,
The scent of lavender tugs me back,
To a single mother, and three young boys,
And how she would lull them to sleep.

Lullabies are my favorite byes.
Sang as you fall into slumber, not waking.
In sleep dreams chase me.
They are more pleasant than reality.

A sunny warm world where you hold me,
And you and I are meant to be together.
No sex is needed, just warm intimate company.
Why do I wake to find only empty walls?

Sitting by my window I ponder these things.
Rain falls upon a carpet of fiery leaves.
The slick black pavement glistens like my eyes.
I cry like the clouds, and I empty my pain.

Don’t smile at me anymore.
It hurts to know I cannot touch you.
I ache for arms to hold me, but all I have are my own.
I wish I could learn from the trees; they are content in solitude.

Thinkers are the saddest people alive.
How could this not be so?
Only ignorance is bliss for me.
If I didn’t know you, I couldn’t love you.

Eventually this too shall pass.
The feelings will be buried deep inside of my heart.
Until, somewhere I see you in a reflection.
Then I will turn back, and remember how I miss you.

We are nothing more than a myth.
We are nothing more than a dream.
There will never be a “we”.
There will always be an “I”.

How lonely the “I” must feel.
One line and no shape.
Cursed is the “I”.
To look and never find.

A Tower

In order to grow,
I throw a million pages off the roof.
They spiral in the air, they make a cloud.
My words rain down, black ink splattering.

The faces turn to ice, I fall.
Everything I fight against pulls me down.
Every other light is lit, on the street I live.
I could lie here on the pavement forever.

A woman comes, she bears gifts.
One is life, another is strength,
She cares for me when no others would.
I rise to my feet; I see my words, now frozen.

The woman gives me one last gift,
She gives me her compassion.
With this flame I free my words.
I recollect my thoughts, I recollect myself.

She has taught me how to build my towers,
Blades of grass laugh in the wind as I work.
I am constructing something very special.
Her liking will be instilled.

She has taught me so much.
She wove me a radiant scarf with her own hands.
I wear it to keep me warm, I feel her soft fingers.
They caress my face, I can hear her.
“An endless world lies at your feet, make it your own.”

With these words I begin to build my tower.
It is a work in progress, but a beautiful thing will come of it.
I will see the entire world when it is finished.
And when I do, I’ll have her there to hold.