Where do I belong?
I can’t really say.
The world is a strange place, full of uncertainty.
I never tire of seeking answers.
Looking for passion that comes with understanding.
And though I’ve known a great many things, I feel drawn from familiarity.
To wander out the door.
I’m at home in a strange land.
No patience for weak minds
Malign me and pay the price
I’ll tear you down with words, or with violence if I like
I’m not the type to be pushed over
I’ve carried a knife since I was eight years old
More resistant than steel
Talk down to me
I’ll crush you under heel
“Suffering on a smaller scale is still suffering”
The thought didn’t cross my mind until an hour had passed
The moth still skittered and slid across the laminate, unable to fly
Its’ broken wing and battered body wouldn’t allow it
Beat after beat, those wings never ceased
The pain must have been unbearable
But who am I to end suffering?
Some compassionate reaper, or a child with a god complex?
I suppose the latter could apply in both cases
In the end, I took its’ life for a second time
First being the moment I swatted it from the sky
Destroyed its’ life without a thought
Curious that I could so carelessly cause suffering, yet hesitate to end it
I suppose that makes me far from compassionate, and much closer to death
Suiting for one who lives life like a spendthrift
Raptor on its’ perch
Aimless in its’ search
Taking note, but never wing
Pray, come to me
See my feathers, see my eyes
See my talons set to rest, razor beak dulled by time
Remind yourself, age takes pity on no earthly living thing
Neither beast nor man, or anything between
Over seven thousand days of putting pen to page
Started writing around nine
Poetry, my shame
For years I tried to hide
I found Baudelaire at twelve
Silent friend of a silent creature
Silver mirror in that hell
Obscured by shadow
Saw my reflection in the eyes
Indifference, anger, lust, avarice
Each cresting like waves, then placid for a while
Moments holding to the quiet
Reflecting on the beauty of the chaos and the violence
More years dwelling in perpetual dusk
Silhouette I’ve become
New year, just as frigid as last week
More winter months ahead
Ice in heavy sheets
Sleet to muddy the eye
Blankets of snow
Bed of another kind
Slip beneath time’s flow
Season of darkness
When frost bites at the windows
This desert of the north cold
Flashes of light to mark the end
Explosions in the sky
Necks craned as colours hypnotize
Fire and sulphurous smoke
Immolate the year’s end
Burn it all away
Resolutions and lost hopes
Scorched away by coloured flame
These fleeting moments of ambition, bubbling to the surface before bursting. I try my best to nurture them. Long, sleepless nights, spent at my bedside, head cradled in hands. Tumultuous depths, disturbances, then placid once again. Reflection comes back into view. Temporary clarity, then chaos renewed. Is this progress? Is this regression? I wonder in endless tides, rising and falling, often caught in shallow pools. Vain attempts at ruling these small worlds within worlds.
Arms crossed, perched upon an ice box
Rod tucked under arm
Cold days of early winter
Fingers feeling numb
Somewhere deep in thought
Broken only for a moment as the line goes taut
The clock sets
Lost under horizon
Marking the end
Homeward goes the fisherman
I’ve known strange days
Hidden away in memory
Interplay between past and present feelings
I’ve strayed away
Withdrawn into my mind
Tried to learn the act of healing
To seal the wounds I can reach
For those that run too deep