i look to you
for validation.
to do something.
or nothing.
to take it back forever;
press the reverse button.
we handle it,
but not handling it.
says the voice.
my anxiety hops inside,
like dried beans on a table
jumping during an earthquake.
a familiar tightening,
a squeezing grip -
a closed fist in my chest.
i feel
there is something
i should be doing.
i seek forgiveness
that i do not deserve.
i remember you
and worry what you’ll think.
a solitary hermit am i
in a dark cave i do reside,
whilst they come to me in strides
so i might flatter all their pride
with the wisdom i’ve acquired.
so long ago since i became
a much sort after, humble sage,
who dwells here in his lonely cage
whilst the people send me endless praise
for their spirits that i do raise.
they seek me always for advice
on love, vocation and their life.
they want not truth nor painful strife,
for truth can cut just like a knife,
so i just sing them sweet delights.
“you sir, i see, shall be a king,
and adorn bright golden bejewelled rings.”
to these falsehoods they will so cling
and hang off every word i sing;
oh the happiness my words can bring.
merrily they’ll dance and skip away
without making a second’s delay,
to tell the others of their day
and how the fates have finally swayed
and life’s dept to them shall soon be paid.
oh when will these small humans learn,
life is not responsible for their return
on everything that is not earned
and into my old mind be burned
all the falsehoods that i have churned.
i built this house stone by stone. my fingers bled from all the work. i pulled up the drawbridge but not before letting you in. i witnessed you plant something, i allowed it to grow and grow. now ivy climbs and strangles the walls. buried deep in the foundations and lifting my floors. the windows now completely covered, i forced those shutters closed. i locked the basement, but the flies crawl through the cracks. i swat them away; more come - the body you hid down there no doubt. the yellow wallpaper that i hate; peeling at the edges and tobacco stained. i risk a glance outside, is that you? i know it has been years since you last climbed that fence. i must find those shears, i thought i had them here. did you take those too? the near constant drizzle of rain; oppressive clouds coagulate over me like voluptuous rolls of fat in the sky. i shiver against the damp chill, but the fires cannot be lit. i imagine you surrounded by light, bathed in an orange, diaphanous glow of warm July sunshine.
slowly, i move from room to room. standing. motionless. staring into the space. only my shadow moves with changing light. i want to lie down. i boil the kettle for tea, that buys me time. a watched kettle never boils. the familiar screeching jolts me back; that didn't feel long at all. a lump move upwards inside - best to ignore it. giving it attention gives it strength, allowing it escape as a scream. or something worse. what a waste. all those unsaid words. i had them well-planned. your ears remain innocent. what sort of power can silence without a gag? suffocated - but still breathing. perhaps you're a magician to pull such a clever trick. i'm convinced of your kindness, whilst i watch you sharpen your knives.
i stand upon a chariot pulled by two beasts that i cannot unite. when they fight, we must stop. so much for riding in unnoticed. my neck and shoulders hurt; straining against the gold chains. "move forwards!" i plead. they ignore me; remaining at odds. i could not see a way out. the trees had been moving again. i could not see a way out. the snow fell heavily; the darkness smothered us. "why can't i have what i want?" because it is not yours, said the voice. accept it. i would not. they started to fight. shredding throats with scythe like claws. i doubled over in pain, never wanting to get up. "stop hurting us!" the beasts roared. i whipped them all the harder. eventually they collapsed; exhausted and bloody, foaming at the mouth. i lay down next to them, weeping. a knight galloped towards us, riding a gleaming white unicorn. he offered me his hand, when i went to take it he laughed and then scorned before disappearing entirely. my poor beasts howled. i stroked their fur gently dressing the wounds. "we'll try again tomorrow." and slowly they fell asleep, safe in the relief.
i found a vase with a flower i could not keep alive. i watered it with falling tears, it still wilted and cried. i sunned it with fake smiles, the petals continued to fall. i placed it on the windowsill so it might see outside. but still the colour faded, my flower did slowly die.
will you chase away my sorrow, that haunts me in the night? the courage i must borrow to escape misery and strife. the darkness it covers me like a blanket of despair. the weight does suffocate me as i claw and grasp for air. the moon gives off no light; the stars have been blacked out. the fear does steal my sight leaving just pain and doubt. come play me your sweet music that lulls me back to sleep. the only thing that calms me, your lullaby to keep.
now, i anticipate the melancholy. when it fell apart every bit of it broke. i realised i was trying so hard to hold shards together. as i held on desperately, i started to forget the shape it used to be. my arms ached but i held on. how could i do what i needed to whilst trying to maintain structural integrity. and then i let go. every piece came apart and fell to the floor. as i let them drop i could hear the sounds of several shatters hitting the ground. it was over... or so i believed. i returned to the fragments, strewn across the room, and considered them. each piece unique. point to one, i'll tell you a story. i laughed. i cried. i started dreaming. what could i build? i found a pot of gold and got to work. it might not hold (i hope it doesn't) i may decide to change, what i decide right now.
such a delicate flower he held in his hand, the petals he crushed as if to take stand. their fragrance was sweet and felt like a cry; so gentle and vulnerable, the roses we find. do flowers have spirits, perhaps even a soul? nobody has asked this when cutting them all. who are we to assume, as arrogant as we are, that we alone have feelings when we destroy and command.
she told me to cut the cards twice and create three piles. then she told me, pick three cards, as i held my question in the air. she placed walnuts on the table. the air filled with thick mist; a blue filter over the forest. she lay there on the rocks, her legs partially in the stream. a single pink rose on her breast; her marble skin glowed. her palms facing up like the Virgin. the fur of animals had been scattered; her hair neatly combed.
