night – A Poet's Pen

Angel

My bones are fractured in small cracks and lines

throughout my body.

I’ve been struck by a disaster that knows no category or scale to describe–

It has broken me into pieces and left me in screams of agony

From the absence of light.

I am fallen.

Left Behind

Depression: an absence of hope, filled with apathy, sitting in an empty house devoid of any colors

or windows

or doors.

Sometimes I can hear a low rumbling drone, like a constant flow moving away from me,

but I can’t place it.

I can’t decipher or understand what this sound is, or where it is going,

but I want to go with it.

On the other side of these walls I know there are roads with people and noise.

I know, because I used to be a part of it

When the Sun left my mind at peace–

So tell me…

When was I left behind in an empty, noiseless city?

Converse Sneakers

He converses with me in his converse sneakers

And pulls me in with a silence that holds me up in his arms.

The sharp edges of his body match his intensity

And beat into me to bring my heart back to life again

From its long sleep.

Dead Space

There is a room in my mind that has no windows or doors.

It has no color–walls stripped bare and blank and empty–

like a force of nature decided to strip a home of its humanity.

Life has left the hallways and spaces of this place.

There is no frame or shape that can explain the barren structure left behind.

It has no name.

It is the definition of “nothing.”

Noise bounces off the foundation like a soundproof room, and leaves no trace of voice.

It is the little hell that keeps people from seeing God or faith in living things.

It is a piece of rotting wood, not good for anything.

This place in my mind–this deadened wood that has no purpose–

permeates my definition of life.

It reminds me of the pressing feeling that nothing lasts and everything fades to the past and pushes people back

until they can’t see color anymore.

It’s a black and white world.

Heavy Listening

Words are lost in translation and

my mind is a blur of yes and no and run,

but I wait for someone to step out of this blur

and say something that sounds like a warm greeting–

a hello from quiet mornings and coffee–

but my thoughts are too light for the harsh reality that claims my fate,

and I can’t run away

from a present perfect destruction that waits in the corners of every room–

every hidden space that makes a piece of the puzzle that was never meant to be there.

It was never meant to fit where

I wanted to place it.

I wasn’t meant for building concrete things.

I was meant for discreet passage ways

In tunnels that have no space for answers.