Celina Adrian
31,566 poems read
"retreat"
where did the time go?
I guess it walked
step by step by step
high in the mountains
with my guide
wisdom carried a small back pack
full of illusion and disillusion.
inside pockets, once unzipped,
exposed my narrow minded views
and dismantled the lure of romantic
street lights
camera, action.
while on this journey,
I carried simpleminded senseless city bourdons
tightly packed in my large nappy brown sack,
appearing
weathered and bruised.
how thoughtless of me
to not even bring food along
to nourish time
or to offer
I knew my hungry hands didn’t have much to give
but I watched him drink nectar
from his empty palms.
he gave me a taste
and with just one sip
I became full.
hiking aint never
been an easy stroll for me -
an asthmatic only chooses to go so far
even with love
I’m used to
corner store jaunts
where they know my name
upon my hello’s and my goodbyes
where hello’s and goodbyes are never for that long;
I’m used to
now and laters
where comins and goins pretend to be lasting
even when they dissolve quickly on craving, needy tongues;
I’m used to
devouring a good brand named bag of potato chips
and feeding off of baggy pant nig-gerish mentality
or biting into uptight racist crack-ers;
I’m used to
hustling a square economy
chasing after round about mannerisms
while lying and lying on dull flat lands.
but out here
high in the mountains
colorful birds chirp kind melodies directly at you
seducing deer see right through your eye color
playful salamander dart in and out
of truth and perception
and blind mice let you know
that reality and phenomena
are to be seen
as one in the same
or quite possibly, not seen at all.
out here
high in the mountains
we sit for a spell
as my guide allows me to catch my breath
while he inhales and exhales effortlessly.
firmly planted in a timeless soil,
the biggest rock hosts my inquiries,
and he points towards the sky
that I can’t see for the clouds.
I know that my vision remains distorted
from the distraction of my previous days
of wearing ridiculously expensive and shaded eyewear.
he holds out his hands
and from them
we feed hungry fish
who remind me of my own ridiculous starvation
and that aint easy to admit to.
in the hills
amongst overgrown grass
beautiful reflective ponds
and the display of an unreachable mountaintop
that I think
about how I wish to one day touch the tip.
why not today?, he asks.
so it is here
on that very day
that I begin conquering the fear of height
by climbing twenty and then forty foot or so trees
as my guide, nearly 80 years old and ageless,
demonstrates first.
it is easy for him
but I learn quickly that I am safe here,
as I rest on branches sturdier
than all of my yesterdays.
it is here
that I think about tomorrow,
and about how
tomorrow holds the weight of
nothing
absolutely nothing
even when I seem to miss
that certain something in nothing.
I think about
how nothing’s allure,
this sweet sexy, quickly gratifying temptress
manifesting in the stride of everything,
will always be
just
a corner store
away
where did the time go?
I guess it walked
step by step by step
high in the mountains
with my guide
wisdom carried a small back pack
full of illusion and disillusion.
inside pockets, once unzipped,
exposed my narrow minded views
and dismantled the lure of romantic
street lights
camera, action.
while on this journey,
I carried simpleminded senseless city bourdons
tightly packed in my large nappy brown sack,
appearing
weathered and bruised.
how thoughtless of me
to not even bring food along
to nourish time
or to offer
I knew my hungry hands didn’t have much to give
but I watched him drink nectar
from his empty palms.
he gave me a taste
and with just one sip
I became full.
hiking aint never
been an easy stroll for me -
an asthmatic only chooses to go so far
even with love
I’m used to
corner store jaunts
where they know my name
upon my hello’s and my goodbyes
where hello’s and goodbyes are never for that long;
I’m used to
now and laters
where comins and goins pretend to be lasting
even when they dissolve quickly on craving, needy tongues;
I’m used to
devouring a good brand named bag of potato chips
and feeding off of baggy pant nig-gerish mentality
or biting into uptight racist crack-ers;
I’m used to
hustling a square economy
chasing after round about mannerisms
while lying and lying on dull flat lands.
but out here
high in the mountains
colorful birds chirp kind melodies directly at you
seducing deer see right through your eye color
playful salamander dart in and out
of truth and perception
and blind mice let you know
that reality and phenomena
are to be seen
as one in the same
or quite possibly, not seen at all.
out here
high in the mountains
we sit for a spell
as my guide allows me to catch my breath
while he inhales and exhales effortlessly.
firmly planted in a timeless soil,
the biggest rock hosts my inquiries,
and he points towards the sky
that I can’t see for the clouds.
I know that my vision remains distorted
from the distraction of my previous days
of wearing ridiculously expensive and shaded eyewear.
he holds out his hands
and from them
we feed hungry fish
who remind me of my own ridiculous starvation
and that aint easy to admit to.
in the hills
amongst overgrown grass
beautiful reflective ponds
and the display of an unreachable mountaintop
that I think
about how I wish to one day touch the tip.
why not today?, he asks.
so it is here
on that very day
that I begin conquering the fear of height
by climbing twenty and then forty foot or so trees
as my guide, nearly 80 years old and ageless,
demonstrates first.
it is easy for him
but I learn quickly that I am safe here,
as I rest on branches sturdier
than all of my yesterdays.
it is here
that I think about tomorrow,
and about how
tomorrow holds the weight of
nothing
absolutely nothing
even when I seem to miss
that certain something in nothing.
I think about
how nothing’s allure,
this sweet sexy, quickly gratifying temptress
manifesting in the stride of everything,
will always be
just
a corner store
away