Deadpool Days

I think reading Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar has had a big effect on the voice in this piece. Especially the part about the days being seamless.

 

I in this black tide cannot wade,

Cannot count the days

Stretching and blind;

Time, that wily creature,

Has made waves,

And now thawed

Rushes awry

The deluge, the deadpool

Deep and sly,

Reflects the moon,

Bright eyed watch

Woken at night

Half blind, struck dumb

Celestial guarded sky,

Speak to me, move me,

Show me pure light

So I can find

Broken ground for these feet

The dancing now ceased;

When starsong plays

Give me the notes

With an A and a B and B

Throttled low

On rebound repeat

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Devotion

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In God, my faith can

Place no grace,

Yet in your shoes,

I saw truth;

I walked nine years

Overcast with fears

And knew my journey

Was to be long and

Often aloof

I took your steps,

Skipped to happier times

To when we were young and free,

And though it is hard to believe

That little girl who loved you,

Laughed with you,

Was once me

Bookended Sky

The landscape of the mind knows many stories, contained, unconstrained. With time, stories grow, become something difficult to root out, stopping only at the limits. Somewhere between the sky and the ground, we are bookended into remembering, loose leaves, fruit to eat. I have a pen to measure the height and span of what can be told.

 

If stories were trees,

Leaves would be veins;

Golden

Green-leaded

No fruit the same

Words would bloom,

Your name an aftertaste,

Picked bitten dropped

Crescent apple gone to waste

And I would climb, to

Bookended sky

To measure branches,

Gripping and sly

On the wall

For with each telling,

A tale can only

Get tall