Chasing my own history
Like I can stop time
In this world where
Not even I am mine.
Though still young
I recall my youth
Through a kaleidoscope
Which distorts the truth.
I grow older
As the crowd never ages
Repeating old words
On yellowing pages.
Chronically present
I remain in the past
Fighting for a love
Still fading fast.
Antiquity passes,
Unheard masses,
Rose-tinted glasses
And you and I.
Stubborn stasis,
Without synapsis,
“A state of chassis”
And then just I.
In shadowy corners
An island of one
Marooned to others
But revered by some.
I wait as always
For it to mature
But fail to notice
It slowly immure.
Offending lights
Strobe to blind
Everyone who was
Left behind.
And yet your eyes
Bore right through me
Caged within
My hushed humility.
Antiquity passes,
Unheard masses,
Rose-tinted glasses
And you and I.
Stubborn stasis,
Without synapsis,
“A state of chassis”
And then just I.
History through roses
Perfectly paints us:
The present poses
Happily without us.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Presume The Posts
On he stumbles,
Blinded like I was,
Bouncing off walls
Transparent as gauze.
One despairing dive:
A brotherly screen -
But somebody steps
To screen him from me.
His hair would curl
At her breath so warm,
But when she left
His curls were shorn.
Having died its death,
That love so fleet,
False solace was found -
Her silver-tongue still sweet.
Friends preserve masks
with ossified odes,
But will not stand
loitering in their own abodes.
Friends seek refuge
without restraint,
But will not hear ill
of ecstasy’s feint.
I hark backwards,
A wont of my own:
Anecdotes of ache
Pile within my phone.
Firmly on my shoulder
Rests a hazardous hand -
Deaf to the words
Of our generation’s bands.
Their words are his,
Uttered in sincerity;
Harsher all the time
In truth and severity.
And she is naïve
To be so callous,
Dragging their story
Screaming through malice.
Friends preserve masks
with ossified odes,
But will not stand
loitering in their own abodes.
Friends seek refuge
without restraint,
But will not hear ill
of ecstasy’s feint.
And then we collide
- his world and mine.
Indiscernible divide
- though inimical inclines.
Yet still he persists
- silence of the crammed.
His brother he resists
- his father already damned.
But his friends exist
- so his posts are manned.
Labels:
brother,
Dad,
November 2011,
Presume The Posts
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