While this society was a direct opposite of a younger society that stood from its strength not shook from it’s fragility and indecision, there are proponents that argue that this generation is the second beginning of creation. Information is readily assessable via various handheld devices, curiosity is aplenty and the youth find intrigue with the aberrant course. I believe it is on this path that creation is found and revolutionary phenomena is discovered along the unscathed roads of nascent enlightenment. I believe the complexity of this pursuit almost always ensues peril and is unbecoming of the frail seekers searching for only recognition with discovery. I believe passion is married with any true monumental discovery and one’s desire to aid others by advancing the world. We fail in social interactions and falter under the pressure of frivolous discourse but capitalize on the access that we’ve been blessed with. A question no longer lingers for decades, ignorance no longer has refuge, and finally the origin of facts can be pronounced on any basis of any honorable argument. What a time to be alive.
Smoke filled the area of my room,
She appeared in white garbs,
She fell sickly into my arms biting her tongue on the collapse,
She bulged her eyes with heavy tears that weighed down my chest,
I stared into her brown eyes and caught the storm in soul,
I reached inside her ribs to grab the pain from her breast and held remarkably tight,
My knee kept behind her head,
I took my hands from her pain and wrapped my arms her,
And held softly,
Her brown skin combusted into tan dust,
I scooped in my palms trying to capture her remains,
Instantly my life changed,
Instantly my fight changed,
Changed from fighting for her into fighting to stay sane,
Her storm moved to me,
My bones rained the water of her memories that remain plastered on my forehead and constantly sitting on my brain.
I have lost her again.
As the houses burn around us, we try to save our own. We build defenses of formidable measure to withstand the most perilous of onslaughts. We fortify our roofs with unbreakable ethics and stay true to our shelter. We stay away from our windows because they show us what we must do without; the pain and misery outside those doors deal great damage to our exposed exteriors. We craft our success to persevere through the fact of eventual failure.
We’ve pointed out spades of errors in the integrity of our fellowmen’s houses…we pledge not to make those same mistakes. I have one other, one other person in this bout of foul play, I stare my darling in her eyes as she set flames to our drapes boding slow death to our sanctuary, she was freezing and needed a heat my body could not provide. The chandeliers fall to the ground and burst into glass cutting chunks of fresh meet from my sensitive legs. I stare my darling in her eyes, I stare my darling in her eyes, I stare my darling…in her eyes as she promises forever…confounding reason with flames. I beg my beloved, who which has the power to remove, these flames from our haven, to not mimic the shortcomings of her friends, I beg my beloved to make eternal peace with her heart and not temporary splendors with her actions. I beg my beloved to think about her honor and truth, for these virtues can rebuild our home. I fear the weight of a vexing plight and allure of a false tomorrow may fill her lungs with that cinnamon smoke, and that is when…I will lose her.
…grant her access to my mind with a roadmap of what rooms not to open-
I would pick her up by her perfect waist and place her at my doorway,
I would swear to my god that her experience would end in accord after her exclaiming me a prophet,
There would no longer need a reason to speak,
I would no longer have to give her a sneak peak through the window in the foyer,
Her body would bow, we would grow, and her heart would finally genuinely know,
What I mean by unconditional.
She would find her solution hanging from the fixtures,
She would see the potential of her future in the pictures,
She would be able to recognize the scent in the home,
And never ever have to question the reason why I fear being alone.
She would probably laugh at the clutter of yesterday’s expectations-
While running through the hallway in a fit of desperation to find my final declaration…the reason.
I feel she would search for weeks,
Body broken and heels weak,
Starring at her surroundings until she reaches a mirror and falls to her knees,
She, the reason, controls the pictures on the walls,
Controls the smell of the home,
Controls the complex fear of being alone,
With three simple words.
We would exit in peace fingers braided,
With forever a possibility again.
I keep my demons in my cellar,
The holy gatekeeper ironclad at the door,
I’ve gotten used to the sound of them beating at the floor,
They do not eat, because I do not feed,
They are not alive so they do not bleed.
Holy gatekeeper mantled in crosses,
Prays for hearts of the thoughtless,
Well righteous and dauntless,
Screaming psalms at the godless,
Oh gatekeeper my guard,
Tame the hate eaters,
The terror of prosperity,
The fear of accomplishment,
The possibility of failure,
The potential for success,
The beginning of nothing less than-
The inability to rest.
I am surrounded by tickled people,
And on my best day,
I cannot remember to laugh at the joke,
It’s something I can’t say,
Something about womenfolk that onsets the chuckles.
I am surrounded by gentlemen,
Upstanding and true-
That are arrested by the prospects of romanticism and chivalry,
It is ostensibly present in everything that they do,
This ensues a respect for women that some would call extinct,
But while these attributes lay closely with nobility,
The different hearts of their companions crush their potential,
The ship sinks for those men upholding civility,
They are no longer deemed essential and collapse under the desires of their lady,
Their hearts are second because nobility exclaims it.
I see this men giggling over their corrosion as they begin to lose themselves,
With her feet on his chest he rests in chaos and wakes in pain,
For this, I cannot laugh.
My deformities have taken shape,
Oil and snow,
Admiration and disgrace,
We all know,
That look on my face,
That still glare of the crow.
The intrigue of nascent disorder forces my hand to raise,
There’s no longer a god here to be praised,
Only the likings of the devoured man,
The ones gnashing on nails and dreaming of Hell,
I am home on soured land,
Dilapidated monuments and decencies taken by the plight of man,
The plight of men,
The women would stay tucked away in their homes,
The peace would stay buried with their bones,
And the wretched folk would parade the streets.
Oil and snow,
Flashes of a dying crow,
Failing where it feasts,
It has munched on greater beasts,
But cannot spring from its feet,
Useless wings, a broken beak,
The broken spoken I’d never speak,
A cry for something a cry for help,
The withered wreck and nothing felt,
Numbest replaces what the light has dealt,
Oil and snow,
More darkness than light,
The last white,
If I tired-
I could become life.