Empty words are broken bridges
Charred from unkept promises
And truths too inconvenient to maintain
Ropes of stifled smiles held down by gravity
And lips accustom to falling
Too fast to hold on for too long
Every plank is repetition
Hastily scribbled replies on cheap parchment
Spaced out haphazardly
Tied absentmindedly
By hands too busy to meddle
In hearts unfit for second-guessing
Even the sure-footed are ensnared
By aged wood rotted through with deceit
Plunging into waters too rapid
Too deep
I balance words on my tongue
Rolling letters against teeth
Scraping sentences built up
And waters stale with grief.
As eyes marked with luggage
Heavier than sleep
Are carried away
Blinking dust and counting sheep.
For what is peace
When sounds are cheap
And fingers lie awake
Intertwined and steep;
They rest on cheeks
And breathe.
For what is peace
When all we see
Are enslaved hearts
Told they’re free?
What can we say
When home
Is why they’re refugees?
And now all is a whisper…
Not the roar of yesteryear,
Of tides pulling heartstrings like bubblegum
Half-chewed,
Forgotten memories
Stuck underneath a table for two,
Hardened,
Flavorless,
And used.
With the whole within us
We learn to act in parts
To mute our rainy days
To still our beating hearts
With the hole within us
We learn to shovel in
To cover up our scars
With papier-mâché skin
We tie our tongues with silver bows
And bow before our dead
We single out as voices grow
The lies our hearts have said
And in the mind of son and daughter
Lead ourselves into the slaughter
T’was the night before Christmas
And all through the streets
Fires were burning
The homes of elites
Brimstone and ashes
And charred skulls aplenty
The smell of fresh flesh
At only 9:20
The taste of sweet cookies
Mingled with smoke
Had even the elders
Starting to choke
And yet protests lingered
With cocktails through glasses
Razor wire on streets
Causing car crashes
While clouds gathered above
Drenching rooftops with blood
And footfalls of troops
Were heard squishing through mud
The innocent children
Stared on in awe
Without any context
For the horrors they saw
And all through the city
Not a present was given
Because at the end
Nobody was livin’
We shout into the void–
With scribbles, songs, and pleas–
To hear a voice come back
As all around us flees.
We look into the west
And strain to find a home,
Where all the rivers meet
And no longer need to roam.
We feel with outstretched hands
And fingers pained and broken,
To feel just one reply
Reverb on lips when spoken.
We ache for one desire
To fill our chest, our lungs, with air and fire.
Between my fingers
Space is aching for filling
With more than mere words
Home is where the mask can slip
The mouth can speak
And the tongue is loosed with love.
Home is where the heart can bleed
The soul is freed
And you never feel alone.
Home is where lungs breathe easy
Legs are no longer prone to fleeing
And eyes can close without danger.
Home is where you feel welcomed
Not as an unspoken burden
But as an equal, comrade, and friend.
Home is where you feel accepted
Where you look past petty differences
And hold close in welcoming arms.
Home is not counting favors
Not counting trips to the fridge
Not feeling guilty for existing…
Home is where I want to linger
Home is where I want to sing
Home is where I fall asleep in peace.
I cannot find you in your movies
In your books
In your posts
I cannot find you in your journals
In your ranting
In your clothes
I cannot find you in your texts
In your silence
In your space
I cannot find you
You have gone without a trace.
I ache to feel the touch of morning rays
Across the hills of evergreen and red
Embraced by early Autumn’s timid gaze
Upon the leaves her lips, so soft, have bled
In hues of yellow orange and brown I weep
Until my time to flee this place so numb
I’ll out to pasture roam with stars like sheep
And wander through the night till overcome
The trees have whispered to their fingers “wait”
Our ears are closed and halt the shaking voice
Our minds to silence thoughts tangled with fate
Until they’re felled by axes of our choice
I ache to feel the touch of morning sun
But only after through the veil I’ve run
Moonlit Poetry 