Circular we live
an eternity to see
why waste the Journey
Everywhere we go
people will find their stresses
but lose their true goal.
Life is circular
and people love to worry
slow down. life is long.
Tag: poetry
Silence
Silence.
The beginning and the end.
Space is filled with it.
ever-expanding and growing.
I can’t stand silence.
It makes me itch, uncomfortable in my own skin.
I grasp for the smallest of sounds, but only silence remains.
we take sound for granted, yet some who live without it miss out.
Though we have learned to repair this.
What I would give to hear sound for the first time again.
The Night
A peer out my window shows clearly that night has fallen.
A group of faintly lit points in the sky are shining.
The moon illuminates the water stretching endlessly to the west.
I sit in my bed thinking about life on the other side of the globe.
Where there is day while here there is only night.
A coyote howls for its friends outside my window.
Goosebumps go down my spine.
I roll over and close my eyes and slowly drift into sleep, Hoping to be greeted by the day.
Cold Case
Is it yes or no?
It can’t be both yet it is
But it isn’t.
Confusing at best
What else is there to think
Or do I not think?
Am I expected not to think,
not to investigate every little parcel.
Sooner or later the case will go cold,
hopefully to be brought out of a box in a couple of years
Unless someone gets to it first.
A high possibility based on the past, but I will sit at my desk waiting for that call.
The call to bring it out and open the box to finally get to look through the files,
Finally solve the case that has been laying stagnant for years.
Little leads here and there that lead to another dead end or wasted efforts that just lead to hurting my good name.
The ice will melt from this case by the fire that has been ignited from the search.
Hopefully it will move from unsolved to forever closed, but for now I sit at my desk.
The shapes of words
Lets start with a letter.
A letter would be the theoretical point of the word world
points can be arranged in many ways, as can letters.
letters form words as points connect to form lines.
Lines are manipulated to become shapes and curves.
Words are manipulated to become sentences.
Lots of sentences create paragraphs, essays, books, and meaning bursts from the pages.
Lines form into shapes and shading, they form the paintings and images.
meaning is formed from the seemingly insignificant parts of our universe.
Zipped Up
Trapped.
Caged like an animal.
Can’t speak out for fear of punishment.
Must speak out for fear of death.
How do you live when you can do nothing?
Either way you are unhappy.
Words stuck behind the glass
Like finger paintings on a frosted window.
Flipped and confusing on the other side,
But leaves a mark in the morning light.
I Am the Last.
These days my English and US History classes are both learning slavery.
It reminds me of a book called “Ishi” which we read for English10 Honors last year.
Because as learning more and more of them, right now I can feel their loneness for being the only one or the last one.
Here is my poem dedicated to the book “Ishi,” called I am the Last.
Staring around,
the darkness of becoming extinct enveloped me
the loneliness of independence embraced me
the silence of emptiness devoured me
I am the last.
Standing there,
with my eyes indistinct by tears
with my lips sealed by the reality
with my hands tenacious by unfamiliarity
with my heart quivery facing a radically different world
I am the last.
Crying here,
I am trying to explore my own sky
I am attempting to breathe deeply with the bleeding air
I am here
In my new world.
Everything changes on me
But one thing cannot be neglected forevermore is
I am the last.
Of Queens and Kings
We’re silly fools
with our petty fights
We have petty dreams
and sleepless nights
We lie awake
and think up things
New lives and loves
of queens and kings
We dream and wish
of things above
And get lost in
what never was
The years, they pass
the time grows thin
Our lives have flown
and we don’t know when
We spent true time
thinking up a throne:
That our own has fallen?
how we should have known
An Idea
An idea is hard to silence.
It builds in one’s mind
Slowly at first
Gaining traction
It begins to take up the real estate of the mind
Shrinking other ideas
But an idea cannot disappear
It is always there
Waiting for its moment
Always living.
Just a simple Idea
The Plan
The plan so far
is to not grow up
But to grow grey
wrinkled and old
The difference
between the two
Is there
But you must find it
for yourself
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