I want to feel the cold on my neck,
The grass beneath my feet,
And God’s breath in my ears.
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash
Clustered in her independence,
Her rocky edges holds the artist’s heart,
A sea of change in her Gaudi atmosphere,
Small bites along her back,
Charms the weary seamen to her shores,
Barna they call her,
The vibrations of a thousand guitar strings,
Hums the embrace of an American’s heart.
The lighted cries of homecoming and well,
Flesh crusted, cake with a million yard stares,
Epics written on the back of men,
Not old enough to dream. What’s a Hero?
What is it for me that I should see?
Old medals that rusts, and a gut that purges,
The drunken youth that fuel the absurdity…
That Parades could drown out the massive strain,
We’ve come home to a war of our own,
Man vs Man, Ideas vs Ideas,
Dogma vs Domga…what’s a hero?
I remember what you said to me,
Covered in the grains of my juvenile determination,
“Come back in one piece” said with a deceiving
grin; crisp words you knew would never be.
I carried them like a wanting child,
Full of helplessness and curiosity,
Smoothing the turbulent rumblings,
That jolted me from inklings of the dark cloud,
That hangs and waters the reservoir of ruins.
Those words carried me along asphalt baked with defeated dreams;
Roadsides: the waiting point for the chariot that delivers us from buffering.
You said you’d wait for him,
And wait for him you did.
Until the man you waited for cease to live.
He came back with the same eyes that won your soul,
But those eyes held no soul.
And you wonder if he’ll look at you the same as he did before,
If he was the same man who told you you were beautiful the year before,
Beneath a night sky,
Fuming with passion and abandoned,
Embraced in a farewell entrapped by a kiss that would nourish the dry spell.
You danced in a bar filled with breaking hearts,
Before a morning of tearful departs.
You listed all the things he liked,
His favorite sports team,
His car magazines,
The way his scent lingered on pillow cases.
A tribute to the man you knew before
Tremblings and temptations,
Defaced promise and youth.
A year of sacrifice has become unglued,
By rogue expectations and delegations that bury the truth,
That you can’t love what you can’t refuse.
And time is a leaving train,
Fixed on a destination,
Not deterred by our own lateness,
As we run to catch steaming metal,
And medal in contemptment,
Won by a dream derailed from the clutches of commitment.
But you said,
You held me like a child,
innocent and unafraid,
The sweet lullabies from your lips,
Soothes winter’s trepid days.
As we melt into a maze of blizzard haze,
We are frozen by the moments where we depart ways.
Through avenues and ravines we navigate,
Through creeks and streams we gravitate towards tributaries allured by the melodies of currents,
Wrapped in whistling wind,
And rocked to dreamland by battling chimes.
Humbled and enclosed in guarded mountains,
We summit to the tier of this world,
Warmed by the heat passing through conciousness,
As we trek to the ground below,
Awaiting our next adventure.
Steadily as we go,
Steadily as we go.
I want to escape to the wilderness,
Quiet and healing,
Where alpine air fills my lungs
With the breath of solitude.
The winds shift my thoughts
To a merger whisper.
The howling moon,
Soothes the wounds of foreign lands
Aimless as I am.
I fall into a rhythm of survival,
Of working tools into a beat,
As life conjures beneath my feet.
I think of love,
And if it was ever for me,
And how far do I have to run away,
Before I’m robbed of it’s stinging taste.
As the Earth quiet,
It sings a lullaby,
Stars illuminate as it hums a symphony,
And the rhythmic swaying of tree branches,
Causes me to drift to a land of sublime,
The ground breathes a sigh,
Collecting the memories from a wounded heart,
And transporting it into the belly burned by molten core and gravitation.
Nature is a beast,
That carries us to safety,
Protecting our heads,
From boulders that slip from deep set mountains,
As we’re taken through the tempest,
Shipwrecked and thirsty,
We are comforted by a relief,
To see the beauty of the sun,
As it rises to warm our cheeks.
Has our sacrifice
Been reduced to holidays,
Where tantalizing smoke rises up,
To embrace the envelope of merriment?
And are we remembered
When discounts are clipped from fingers,
And free days are met with exuberance?
The glee of celebration,
Is drowned by our remembrance,
Of brothers and sisters who’ve answered the final call.
There are no off days,
For memories that conjures up consciousness of longing,
Of times when life wasn’t so cruel,
And life would return to the ones we carry the burden for.
On this day
Is only a reminder.
A sweet hello,
To a spring noon,
Dressed in sunlight,
As bugs whispers love,
Of their bites.