Though White And Dust

A tiny speck.

Dirt underneath the nails.

A surge, so deathly.

In spite of writhe.

Hidden amidst fog.

Scratching, though doubtful.

Irony in every wrapping.

The body is set for idle repose.

A white dove flew across the puddle,

Dipping its wing into the pond.

Across the lake it did but see,

The ocean was staring back at me.

The tree bark peels.

The mark of dog days.

The wood bowed,

And so we laid.

The tree bark peels, of “Ought to go.”

The mark of dog days, of “Summer getaway.”

The wood bowed, of “Bidding today.”

And so we laid, of “Yesterdays tomorrow.”

I ought to go, for my time here is spent.

A summer getaway, is only moments at hand.

Bidding today, I’ll leave you with this:

What is today, when yesterday’s tomorrow?

I would have hoped things would have started out better than this. I would have hoped that even though fingers reached for the ones they loved most, hands were never there to guide them. I would have hoped that toes could walk on the beach; embrace the summer breeze, though no one could walk for them. I would have hoped that in my last wishes, you would be the first I’d catch, though oceans are far beyond our reach, and only I can wait for the tide to release.

I felt the empathy of my shadow, as it cast upon the floor.

All I could do was embrace it, for it was all I had.

No one could touch me, no one could move it.

I was a rose in a bush of thorns, sought for protection, though pain stood allure.

I felt my heart expand beyond it’s cage.

I felt my blood flow beyond it’s rivers.

I felt my bones stretch from their stiff repose.

I felt my mind break from the stone, casting pebbles beyond myself.

As tears trimbled, my face grew woesome.

As my nose turned red with relieve, everything else came naturally.

Catching and releasing is not a part of why the shadow stays with the soul. Catching someone worth holding onto, or releasing that shadow to be find them, makes laying in bed at night not all too lonesome. You know, someday, that shadow’s coming back, and as soon as my hands feel the covers, and as soon as my feet touch the end, I know you were right there with me, from beginning ‘till then.

[A quarter mile down the road from where I lived, was a man, quite aged, though still kickin’.

He once told me a couple months ago, that there was this river down by Clandestine Hollow called Surreptitious.

He said, “Ain’t nobody know why they call it that, but the lesser yah know, the better.”

So, as my curiousity got the better of me, I’d figured I’d put it on myself to go check it out, see what the mystery was.]

The sun ascended the mountain with disdain.

Pitty the land it shined brightest on.

Awaiting a cloud to billow by, so that it can never know the sight it set eyes upon.

And then the whole field turned to the moon, and she lay her arms down by the river.

Oh how the land enjoyed her favor.

[I had a bird cage once, no bird in it though. Just kept it in my closet, figured it’d come to use oneday. Woke up last night, about half past dusk; had this weird feeling somebody was watchin’ me. Got up to look out my window, and there he was, just sittin’ on the tree stump, tappin’ his feet to the sounds of the night. All I could think about was the bird cage when I saw him, wonderin’ why I never got a bird, then I figured they’d all die someday, and I’d be all alone, just a cage in the closet with pain to hide. So I went back to gaze at the moon, and he was still there, looking up at the stars, glancing casually at me from time to time. I guess I just gotta unlock the cage more often, let the birds fly out, if I had any, so I did instead.]

The sun, still distant from the land.

Pittying the land it gave warmth to.

Savoring the clouds it slept in, dreading the day they’d come to pass, and it would rise again.

The moon still glistening in the river, hummed to her midnight medly.

Oh how the land enjoyed her favor.

[Walked out to meet him, though he was still tappin’ on the stump. Kind of nervous, but not scared. He greeted me with delight, as did I, and we walked through the field towards Clandestine Hollow. He said he’d been there once before, but never had nobody to go with. So we continued down to old Surreptitious, figured we’d go for a cold night swim. Well, once we got there, I knew why people never knew, but only I knew why the moon cast her light down just for us. The sun never did like us, and birds never liked cages, and it’s always dark in that closet, so I dived in, instead.]

The sun no longer gave, for the moon was all the land needed, forethought and after, no need to overthink.

All the land and river needed was the here and now, keeping each moment as memory, as he did with me.

A form so sedentary, iodized my mind.

Composed of self-deterioration, it implicated my nerves vigorously.

Heaving from my wits end, I tethered a resolve from my sanctity, and castrated my Cross.

No longer my God, I worship no more, disconnected from reality, no longer sought for more.

Like Bats in the Belfry, I hear the solemn tolling, Death has a place for me, and I am left unknowing.

Acts Of Valor.

Ask me only as you lay,

that one day you shall wake,

and of you as you pray,

come forth with heartless sake.

Of great woe and disdain,

today I surely swear,

in your acts of valor,

simply hang them on the door.

For yesterday has closed,

this lock no longer opens,

the key to the future,

with your shadow left unspoken.

A Willow arcs civility, amidst a subliminal grove.

Of sempiternal contentment, like an orchestral ode.

Confiding in docility, to wind it weeps no longer.

Along an array of shadows, silently setting astray.

Alas, it sways in doubt, inept to standing idle.

Obscuring to the ground, it stretches toward the heavens.

Leaping for ambition, freely forth for flight.

All the whilst it succumb to repose, awaking further in, farther out, I suppose.

Of decades before, I’ve lived centuries away, but by a fallen star, you ask only if you may.

A slaughtered night’s won, the onslaught of it’s cost, say you only in your weakest, pray you strength to find the lost.

If only by and by, you come across a sleeping ale, may dreams be of vanity, for pardon your soul only by a nightingale.

So say your soul shall pass, and you do but only wake, go along your wayward pass, upon a fallen star you shall take.

Amidst your wishes yet only command, wait till dawn has surmounted dusk, at which you should drop your flask to dust.

Take her by the hand so dear, for your wish is hers to grant so sincere, ever so slightly do you slip, the sky your misfortune as ground you hit.

Along the earth a quiet height, you did descend ever so quite, never will you know of her lips, as eyes you failed to hinder so blind.

May you live forever in eternal wonder, had you agressed upon such a wonder, may she be ever so kind to your wish now granted, so say your hearts grew fonder, forever enchanted.

“Where are you?”

“Are you still there?”

“Are you still outside my door?”

“Who are you?

“…”

There’s someone outside my door.

It briefs uncertainty, though knows far more.

I can hear it breathing, though lifeless it seems.

Aren’t I real anymore, or is this just an endless dream?

There’s someone outside my door. I can hear it knocking, though I do not answer. Nothing can stop it, though only it has stopped, and I don’t know why. I can assume a void, perhapse, though emptiness has it’s own self-inhabitance. I know this place, it seems familiar, perhapse I knew all along, or just here after.

There’s someone outside my door, amidst a white room, it’s darker than before.

I have no windows, so I don’t see the white, but I know its there, hopeful in spite.

I’m used to the dark, it seems though black is all I know, but only in sleep do I choose to wake, for when I wake, I can’t resist sleep.

I dream of it, surrounding myself in it, living within it, though I’ve been here with it all along, and I still don’t believe it exists, yet I’m still here.

I open my door every moment I doubt white exists.

Every time it’s opened, I see a light, so I follow it.

As shadows become hews of gray, I can see that white is possible.

Though once I reach the light, I turn to find that it’s just a room, only I’m shutting the door I was once behind.

I close my door every moment I believe it was opened.

Every time it’s closed, I see that I’m still in black, not light.

As gray becomes oblivious to black, I see now that white is no more than that.

Though once I search for that light, I turn to find that it’s just a room, only I’m opening the door I was once behind.

All in all I’ve come to find, that all the while I’ve looked to find.

Forgetting naught, insight of light, no longer shall I see white.

For all is but a lull of woeful fallacy, composed of shadows left behind.

Upon this I see, no longer sought for more,

I bid you to thee, of thanks and sorrow.

My life was once we, for no longer you and I,

I see as you leave, no longer seek your tomorrow, with this, I’ll wait in deed.

Fourscore and here you stand alone, not aged in memory, yet gray bestowed.

Dust to dust, and ashes rise, time no longer ticks, the tock has owed.

So with this key, the lock shall close,

for thine eyes do see that key, yet upon wakening, a dream was all it’s own.

I open the door, betwixt we stand, yet you are there,

for here I am, an arm for an arm, but where are our hands?

A step I shall take, though shadows do hover,

all the while you wake, and I am cast to the ground, for shadows do forsake.

At last we meet, upon this I see, a lock now open, for you are the key,

in my eyes of blight, you wilt no more, fourscore and here you lay, aged in gray, yet memory bestowed, I pray, Amen.

There is a change.

A feeling grows oh so woesome.

Like a broken violin, it chords woe.

Once a thought, but now it knows.

Neither seek nor sought, either new or weary,

Oh, a formal feeling comes, like the first ought of Spring.

Aside from woe, a heart is joyous,

Though Winter dawns like ceremonious tombs, a life no more.

First, a heart shall stupor, then, like a dose of sleep, it lets go.

I stand betwixt some bones and sticks, for all but wall is made of bricks.

For in this place upon that hill, where all but silence, my mind subdues to kill.

I see a light against the wall, and as my sanity begins to fall, so does she, hindered to brawl.

So I grabbed the source, and took to sake, for she moved quickly upon her wake.

As I swiffed the air, and she did so swing, a force against reason, I soon found hostility.

She wore a scrub of the purest fright, for blood and ash dimmed her sight, and all the course of that light, she drew her hunger for flesh so blight.

And so I dropped that haven of sorts, and sprinted out of that haunted gore, hoping that she may not follow, so off I went further into hallows.