The Deepest Silhouette

Deepest Silhouette

Stretched thin and tight like a thread

or “Like butter over too much bread”

As Bilbo once said

No, more like wires of a marionette

No, no, they’re so quick to forget

Most like the strings of a quartet

Because, thin and taut and whet

Is less of a full moon, more lunette

Curved as a smile, and yet

Has shadow auspices to add depth

Hiding my flaws in a vignette

From love of friends is love beget

Making me the deepest silhouette

 

Meager

Shattered and Passed Down

Ashes to ashes

And dust to dust

Words to letters

And iron to rust

 

Pictures and frames

Passed down, son to son

Twice, maybe thrice

Trading memories for a new one

 

Maintain character

Pretend with the times

Play a new part

But never consign

 

Be your own self

Yet look to the past

Your life received in pieces

That you might leave one last shard of polished glass

 

Inheritance

Stronger Than You Know

Optimystique

Looking up to see the walls of my heart

Crumbling and scarred

Carelessly marred

At least I’m down here and not in my mind

Dark and confined

Practical time

I swear I’m okay… at least I will be

Too dark to see

But I’m optimystique

Some day, I hope it’ll flood or cave in

Leveled again

Healing streams and fen

 

Gorge

Once More

Once MoreThe sweet dawn and her gentle breeze

Are reserved for the lovely nightingale

Tirelessly caressing the world in a melody

That speaks of starshine and moonlight, gleaming

As seamen once more hoist the sail

 

Remind me again what it means

To captivate hearts, and what is entail’d

To love and be loved, to live and let how I be

Stand akin to the nightingale’s singing

Simply: gracefully hoist the sail

 

Once more

 

Saintly

Remind Me

Surrounded by words

But I find myself speechless

Surrounded by air

But I don’t have what it takes to breathe

In, out, in, forget it

I could write every step to the perfect mess

In, out, in, forget it

I got hooked and now there’s a hole in the heart on my sleeve

 

Remind me why I never speak my mind

Remind me, what does my voice sound like

Remind me why I stay silent every time

Remind me why so I don’t have to put my heart on the line

When I Was But a Child

I have scars from when I was but a child

The days when I was allowed to be reckless and wild

And amidst tragedies I didn’t yet understand, I smiled

And I never knew the novel I’d become was being compiled

 

I have scars from when I was a young man

With confidence and ignorance to say, “Yes, I can”

I saw many things from which I should have ran

Facing lions and demons, armed with a frying pan

 

I am earning my scars now, as an adult

I am learning that not all flaws are my fault

I am learning how easy it is to vault

The heart of my childhood, jaded with salt

 

And some day, when I am old and gray

I’ll soften a bit, and in patience, decay

This patina of wisdom should not harden with age

But should cause me to look at my hands and say,

 

“I have scars from when I was but a child”

Time Beleaguered

One Way.JPG

Dusk threatens with tendrils of gold

To put me to sleep in the loveliest fold

“Just up the stream” by a nymph, I’m told

Is where I can run and never grow old

But the decaying smell of moss and mold

Lies just behind and bites like bitter cold

Now I’ve gone too far, this life I’ve sold

I look for an escape, however faint or bold

But as I turn to look back at the trail

I realize that I, hearty and hale

Walked while, in tow, this infallible veil

Ate the ground at my heel, dusty and frail

It left behind neither mountain nor dale

Nor anything constructed with pillar or wale

So, with a shrug, I turned into the gale

“There’s no retreat, may the storm be my grail”

Onward I walk

In search of the loch

With the Youth Fountain’s stock

That the veil, I might mock

One-Way

Scraps of Peace

A thousand lives

pass by thirty-thousand and six feet below

and yet I think it’s me

wasting away

 

because for every mile passed,

I’m less than a minute older

and yet a lifetime closer

to the places imagination takes us.

 

In this moment of muted melody

I come by scraps of peace

and, in moments of cadence by creed,

I keep my promise to never let the symphony cease.