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Character Poems #3
More poems more poems~ (rough draft disclaimer etc.) I only did three instead of four because I couldn't think of another one for CFUD. :(a But if I think of one or you give me suggestions I will put a forth here eventually and stuff.
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boy
blank days whirl in a bright unnumberable blur
brimmed with delirium
and a sense of being both
he was a boy
he thought he’d always be a boy
each day its own millennium of options
each one hundred thousand years of daylight
ending
in the night watch
he thought he’d always be a boy
a different world in every flicker
of sunlight across the surface
the understanding that some days, there are no gods
but by sunset he was an old man
his heart slept—and without his watching,
the world, permanence doubted, returned again
and so did he
with a cracking quality that teaches him how to read it
longing for understanding
of what happens
and does not happen
and overcome with the love that was still
there when the light swept back
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unrepentance
he may be bright but scratching
the surface of a black light is
tipping over the wall and back
of stupid mistakes
with a shattering air
let the stones drop from the sky
and how he looks so weak
pretending that he can save anyone
does he think he can tempt death
caress the trigger
lick the knife
kiss the poison
and remember the most
effective wound is the one
that goes through the hand
over your heart
but even he is afraid of the dark
there’s no help for him here
when they all drown in the same lakes
and muddy sand pits
the only thing left is to
take a photo of that empty black box
to remind him of the things
he has done
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Nonstop Downfall
Not a reflection in a window
but (surely) a window is a reflection of him.
The room is unadorned with a view
of a picket fence and a bench for just two;
if he could only tip the leaning tower in his path
he would see the grass burns on both sides.
Everything is painful from here
that unreality in the glass reaching
for the mosaic spools of thread wet with tar
singing I hope all love starts like this
and dragging souls down to nothing
where it is quiet, peaceful agony.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
boy
blank days whirl in a bright unnumberable blur
brimmed with delirium
and a sense of being both
he was a boy
he thought he’d always be a boy
each day its own millennium of options
each one hundred thousand years of daylight
ending
in the night watch
he thought he’d always be a boy
a different world in every flicker
of sunlight across the surface
the understanding that some days, there are no gods
but by sunset he was an old man
his heart slept—and without his watching,
the world, permanence doubted, returned again
and so did he
with a cracking quality that teaches him how to read it
longing for understanding
of what happens
and does not happen
and overcome with the love that was still
there when the light swept back
________________________________________________________________________________________________
unrepentance
he may be bright but scratching
the surface of a black light is
tipping over the wall and back
of stupid mistakes
with a shattering air
let the stones drop from the sky
and how he looks so weak
pretending that he can save anyone
does he think he can tempt death
caress the trigger
lick the knife
kiss the poison
and remember the most
effective wound is the one
that goes through the hand
over your heart
but even he is afraid of the dark
there’s no help for him here
when they all drown in the same lakes
and muddy sand pits
the only thing left is to
take a photo of that empty black box
to remind him of the things
he has done
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Nonstop Downfall
Not a reflection in a window
but (surely) a window is a reflection of him.
The room is unadorned with a view
of a picket fence and a bench for just two;
if he could only tip the leaning tower in his path
he would see the grass burns on both sides.
Everything is painful from here
that unreality in the glass reaching
for the mosaic spools of thread wet with tar
singing I hope all love starts like this
and dragging souls down to nothing
where it is quiet, peaceful agony.