The next three poems were written one after the other on a long nighttime car ride home.
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Long lids languish open, staring
At nothing in particular
Nothing but light as it changes.
Dark, white, black, light, yellow.
Flash of this reflection. Then that one stays steady.
The eyes stay open only to think.
Or to control... Thought.
Close the eyes and a beastly picture returns.
Close the eyes and the burn- it screams and yearns
For more.
Gross sight of the last past.
It is written in that sea of murky blue upon skies with no stars. No stars. No star.
Recount and retell: fail, I judge.
Number five knew it already and before. Six, three, two... A missile car leads my sight straight to the neon blue sign. It carelessly gasps, "safe journey".
Thank you. I will need that.
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Thank you for reading. We're near the end of this collection now. In fact, this is the last night of poems (3) I will be including in this collection.
If you enjoyed this poem, please vote! Now tell me... did you get what I was talking about? What was going on in this poem? Share your thoughts before reading the context I'll be putting below :p
I was just existing in the right-hand back seat of the car. It was dark and no one could see my tears as they continued to fall despite my efforts to quell them. I couldn't make sense of what had just happened. Had I orchestrated it? Was he being serious? Did he care? Did he ever? Would he ever? What must everyone think of me now?
I had left the youth meeting and gone out the back. I stared up at the sky for a while then my nose felt like it was covered in a light static electricity that drew water up into my eyes. A hand started squeezing slowly and in increasing amounts at my heart. There were eels in my stomach swirling and trying to bite each other in an attempt to be free. Sooner than I could have believed, I lost control. Entirely.
Someone very special to me came up from behind me. I always get a fright when something's behind me... anyone can know that. But I think I got an extra fright when it was him... because he didn't care for me anymore. So, I believed. So, perhaps, I still believe. The confusion of this torments me as it did then.
And why was I crying? What caused this in the first place was a buildup of tremendous emotion set on the unknown. I had lost any and all direction. Nothing was making sense because I had nowhere to go and whatever I needed around me to provide this stability of grounding, from which one often finds direction, was missing. Inasmuch as the boy who came after me was a comfort, he was also one of the many missing and confusing things. It was a paradoxical relationship in itself.
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Wave (Book 2)
PoetryI had survived the first. That was then; this is now. The blindfold of so many pills slowly died away and first though my finger then my head, a passion, a hurt and a need filled me as every moment was consumed with words; every breath with wisps of...
