Shattered Mirror

Blue eyes rimmed in darkness;

She hasn’t slept in days.
Pink lips set in a thin line against pale skin;
She’s angry.
She taps a finger at the keys
To hear the piano’s tune.
It rings like death through the mansion,
Drowning with a fatal moan into red curtains.

 

“Who are you?”
I scream at her in fear,
Drawing her attention for the first time.
A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth.
“You mean you don’t recognize me?”
She circles me once,
Then comes to a halt right in front of me.
Our identical pale, blue eyes lock onto each other,
Like I’m staring into some demented fun-house mirror.

 

“Stop shutting me out.”
Her voice bellows in my ears,
But I ignore it,
Closing my eyes,
                            s                       t                 e                             g
                                    h                       t                  r              n
                                             a                                         i

The connection.

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Bluebird

A bluebird flying just above the road,
Wiping tears from the windows to her soul.
Soon, she will soar, forever free to roam.

The sound from her throat, a sorrowful ode,
She hacks up a cloud, dark and black as coal,
The bluebird flying just above the road.

She looks weary as her body corrodes.
Soon she will swallow the seed of the pistol.
Then, she will soar, forever free to roam.

Archaic joints ache as they creak and groan,
The problems of time, out of her control,
My bluebird flying just above the road.

On the journey up, a goodbye she crowed.
At the gates of heaven, she paid the toll.
Now, she will soar, forever free to roam.

I’ll miss you, bluebird; together we strode.
We started so young, and you’ve grown so old,
My bluebird flying just above the road,
Now, she will soar, forever free to roam.

Rain

I hear it
Before I feel it,
Cool drops
Speckling my burning skin,
Washing away the tension.
Mist swims around me,
And I am the only person
Here,
Right now.
I feel alive.
I feel beautiful.
As it showers over me,
I feel
Like myself,
And laughter shines
From within,
Glittering against the mist
And ringing off the puddles.
I let go
Of frustration,
Of stress,
Of everything
That could take away
From the magic
In this one moment
Where I am free
To be me.

No Time

I used to wonder:
If everyone on Earth
Stood still,
Held their breath
For one minute,
Has any time
Actually passed?
We have not aged.
We have not moved.
And if there were one person
Who did not,
Who walked through the statues,
And observed the stillness,
Does time only pass for them?
Or does their pushing time
Cause it to pass for all of us?
Do our eyes following them
Across the road,
Their movement against the stillness
Drawing our attention,
Our energy,
Cause us to move
More than we intended?
Does it break the stillness for all of us?
Or maybe they age just a fraction
More than the rest of us have.
Even though we all
Experienced that moment,
We all experience it differently.
Is it our thoughts
That prove the passage of time?
Is it our heartbeats,
That we cannot force to stop?
Is it the fact
That we were there,
That we do remember,
That we did experience it,
That prove
That the Earth did not stop spinning,
Our clocks did not stop ticking,
And all other life on Earth
Continued on without us?
Or will  it never be more
Than a memory,
Of the time
There was no time?

Dance of the Sirens

The sirens sing to me
From the distance.
The varying melodies
And the changing tempos
Fill my stomach with a sort of dread
That excites me more than scares me.
All around me they scream
Like owls in the night.
The flashing lights are almost visible,
Playing on the walls,
And all down the streets,
Reflected in windows that distort them
And make them run together.
I am watching a performance.
A red spotlight,
Then a blue.
The sweet whine is growing louder
And faster.
And then, breathtakingly,
The dancer glides across the stage
Followed by another
And another.
I wish to follow them,
To know where it is they go to,
But I would never want to ruin
Such a beautiful performance
By knowing the horror that has sparked it
And destroying the wonder
It has sparked in me.

Guilty

“I love you.”
I lick my lips
As if that could ever cleanse them
Of this poison,
The poison that lies
Within my lies.

“I love you too.”
I plug my ears
As if that could ever tune out
The deluded passion
With which you speak
Of mutuality.

Inside, it burns,
The venom.
I am a snake.
I deceive you,
And you trust me.
Why?
I could never give to you
What you deserve.
You are too perfect
For someone like me.
How do you not see it?
I don’t deserve you.
I am a liar.
But, there, you sit
And call me perfect.
Perhaps you are the liar.
It seems so genuine.
I wish it truly could be,
But I have delved far too deep
Into mistakes
That could only ever hurt you.
I cannot bear these consequences.
“I love you.”
And I mean it.
It would just be so much easier
If you did not love me back.

A Wall and Lilacs

There stands a wall,
red bricks and all
cemented and tall
right in front of me.
What could lie on the other side?
An endless imagination
could not begin to know
or even believe if it did,
because how does one ever believe
that all ideas may be blocked
or contained by simply a wall?
Well, it is certainly a strong wall at that.
And though incredible,
it stands true that each and every
inspiration of mine
lies beyond stone, red borders,
untouchable.
If I could burn it, I would,
but the stones that hold them in
are much too adept
at keeping me out.
Perhaps if I climbed it,
but for how long
would I be climbing?
There must be a door here somewhere.
It seems I’ve walked miles,
tracking the damn thing,
searching only for a way in.
In frustration with the matter,
I kick one of the bricks,
and to my surprise,
it crumbles at my touch.
Hastily, I get to my hands
and knees and peer inside.
One glimpse into this haven
has provided me with all I need.
The smell of lilacs
floats out to me,
wrapping me up,
cradling me the same way
its tree’s branches used to
when I was young.
Comforted and feeling
fresh as the petals, themselves,
I turn my back to the wall,
sliding down to sit
in a clump of thick, fresh grass
that has grown there,
and seeing for the first time,
a lilac tree a few feet away.