Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
I always liked a person for what they were inside
It's been, perhaps, too long
Since I last touched the decaying skin
Of an age old friend,
Dried in her ways,
Set in stone are her eyes,
I forgot what it was like to look;
I merely forgot what it was like to breath.
I ran her circles, became her excuse,
Chanted and chastised till no words were necessary,
Till we weren't necessary,
Her voice so crisp
Her words so clear I cannot interpret
Without misinterpreting,
Become a bastard,
Run away,
So random the thought, she came with meaning,
She set it aside in poetry once,
Only once,
One poem birthed, nothing more,
I wept at the death of decision,
The death of deception,
The death of her rare art form that she found ugly,
When I found it beautiful.
How dare she doubt me?
Says she loves him,
Even as the fist hammers down upon her,
Ice water down your back,
Below zero, freezing weather,
Why are you out in the cold, soaking wet?
I scoffed when she took him back as
She moved into the warmth,
Let the sun hold her, held her, she let him let her go,
And he rained down a thousand insults,
Like small needles, climbing deeper
And deeper within,
The warmth held her no more
As she slept, one last time,
In a shelter for battered women
With her daughter
Who deserves better than a recycled bed
And reused thoughts.
I remember the vivid laughter in her voice,
Even as she wept and told me she
Was giving him another chance and I told her
The same conscious strain of thought I'd always felt
And the reminiscence that followed of
Sleeping together in that apartment,
She in a bed and me on a couch,
Watching movies till the meaning was bled dry,
And finding sense in nonsense,
And the quiet smoke curling around our fingers
While we watched the stars blaze on
In a cancer-black sky,
Telling each other where we would go
Once we'd finished college,
Not knowing that a few short years later,
Neither of us would be attending,
And neither of us would have accomplished a degree.
Perhaps it was the comfort of the wind
That led us to believe
That anything was possible.
When the wind died down,
We knew exactly what was possible,
And it wasn't that great.
June 30, 2009
Since I last touched the decaying skin
Of an age old friend,
Dried in her ways,
Set in stone are her eyes,
I forgot what it was like to look;
I merely forgot what it was like to breath.
I ran her circles, became her excuse,
Chanted and chastised till no words were necessary,
Till we weren't necessary,
Her voice so crisp
Her words so clear I cannot interpret
Without misinterpreting,
Become a bastard,
Run away,
So random the thought, she came with meaning,
She set it aside in poetry once,
Only once,
One poem birthed, nothing more,
I wept at the death of decision,
The death of deception,
The death of her rare art form that she found ugly,
When I found it beautiful.
How dare she doubt me?
Says she loves him,
Even as the fist hammers down upon her,
Ice water down your back,
Below zero, freezing weather,
Why are you out in the cold, soaking wet?
I scoffed when she took him back as
She moved into the warmth,
Let the sun hold her, held her, she let him let her go,
And he rained down a thousand insults,
Like small needles, climbing deeper
And deeper within,
The warmth held her no more
As she slept, one last time,
In a shelter for battered women
With her daughter
Who deserves better than a recycled bed
And reused thoughts.
I remember the vivid laughter in her voice,
Even as she wept and told me she
Was giving him another chance and I told her
The same conscious strain of thought I'd always felt
And the reminiscence that followed of
Sleeping together in that apartment,
She in a bed and me on a couch,
Watching movies till the meaning was bled dry,
And finding sense in nonsense,
And the quiet smoke curling around our fingers
While we watched the stars blaze on
In a cancer-black sky,
Telling each other where we would go
Once we'd finished college,
Not knowing that a few short years later,
Neither of us would be attending,
And neither of us would have accomplished a degree.
Perhaps it was the comfort of the wind
That led us to believe
That anything was possible.
When the wind died down,
We knew exactly what was possible,
And it wasn't that great.
June 30, 2009
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I always liked a person for what they were inside
I always liked a person for what they were inside
