Barcelona

I thought of you in Barcelona,

And thought of nothing,

I think she healed me,

But who knows….

Allegory

I thought this would be an allegory,

But I became distracted,

The Sagrada stole my gaze;

I suppose that’s the nature of God.

Echo

Subway windows fogged with containment,

Bach is the ocean that holds the eclipse of life,

I am no more darker than light;

Bliss has put to sleep a creeping moon,

A man who was the sum of his missing parts,

Becomes an adolescent art project,

A halt settles on a counter melody,

A duel of sorts creasing into a crescendo,

This is beauty I reckon:

Where a disheveled desk holds the great

mysteries of life,

They say Bach is played for God,

And we are so lucky to receive an echo.

I, Ran.

The sun breathes a relief,
As I overturned the dust of you in my hands,
And let this gentle breeze take you away;
You didn’t me love the way I wanted you to,
So I ran,
and ran,
Till I couldn’t run any more.
The soles of my feet,
Grew as hard as my heart,
I buried your pictures,
I burned you down,
And I ran,
I ran.
I sketched you out in dirt,
Brushed you away,
Threw spit into the air,
And watched it rain down,
And I ran,
I ran.
My muscles grew tired,
I had to slow down,
Watching you hold on to me,
As I wrestled you to the ground,
I ran,
I ran.
I will continue to run,
Till the sweat of your memories,
Is dried like the morning dew,
And the Mountains peaks growls like a lion,
Roaring the breathe of me steadily into a slumber;
The cool springs quenches my thirst for you.

Out There

Out There

Out There,
I’m afraid of my shadow,
Because it’s already dark enough inside my head;
The sun dances between concealment and ambivalence.
I step in footprints that are not mine,
Playful like a child;
For a moment, I laugh, deeply, taken,
Skipping unabashed through tentacles of beauty:
Of mountain songs, of listless clings, reconciling demons that burned a depth falling in lifeless pits.
I stretch my arms like mountains,
Fingers brush the wind,
Standing firm upon the snow caps,
Resting amongst the clouds,
Steadfast until you come to me like a wandering Eagle
And you’ll love me when I’m better.
Out there,
You’ll find me,
Nestled in the waters,
Drowning,
Gasping,
Until the damp shores are within my grasps,
I heave and lay,
Wet with spittle,
Until you find me unafraid.

Bro

We sit beside each other,
Not able to hold hands:
Bros only by another name.

Call of Duty

We will not be written in books,
As names,
But numbers.
We will fade into the dust of time,
Our sweat dried from the escaping cracks
Of ground.
And we will carry whatever remnants
We have left,
In the coffers,
Brazen with smiles behind broken lives.
We hide in the early hours of the night,
Our faces enamoured with killing objects
on digial screens.
Yelling into a microphone “fuck you dude!”
Bitter between championed teams.
Mountain Dew fuels aggression and suppression of innocence stolen.
Chips are crisp with salt and plucked from fingers that pulled triggers.
Memories blare like trumpets inside lucid dreams,
And a drink soothes the nerves of a dream deterred,
Or so we heard.

We pray that light will shine,
Maybe for a few precious moments our minds drift off into a bliss of calm and contentment.
If we are mindful maybe our resentments will transform into forgiveness.
And addiction doesn’t run rampant,
Unchained in a field riddled with avoidance,
Transported to console the suffering.

Still in the lonely hours we needle every thread that quilts us to a time,
Where heroes dined on succulent dishes of mission.
Now we are confined to living our former lives through pictures,
Depicting a time where life and death were a line shorter than this sentence.