The Catacombs

Once upon a time there was a grand kingdom,
with great walls to keep out harm,
and great gates to welcome friends.
The kingdom was peaceful,
it's rulers just and wise
and it's citizens full of wonder and love.
The kingdom had many joyous celebrations,
it saw rain and sun,
new life come into the world,
new love stories unfold,
and did not run on gold,
but on intent and hope.
Of course, this much light casts dark shadows,
So under this glorious kingdom are the catacombs.

They are here to keep the kingdom safe from it's dark,
but also to keep the dark safe from the light.
This is where the kingdom keeps the very darkness
that makes the light so bright.
The darkness is not evil or dangerous,
it is necessary,
and it is what keeps the light burning.
The dark is where the shadows go
so that they can go unnoticed.
They remember what it is to be forgotten.
They get lonely, as can be expected,
but they are not sad,
they do not feel much at all,
they are only shadows.

Were you to wander through the catacombs
you would see nothing, for there is no light.
You would hear nothing, for nothing quite exists in this space.
After a while, you would become lost,
unsure whether you were coming or going,
upside down, or backwards, or human.
The void may drive you mad.
You may begin to hear the shadows whisper
and tell of things they once were
smiles and laughter and rainbows
all dead and gone and living in the underneath.
You mustn't fear, it's safe down here.
The shadows remember everything,
including the light of life.

The kingdom would not be so great
if it not for the catacombs,
the place to keep the dark
because, consider this;
every kingdom has darkness,
most keep theirs out in the open for all to see.
These kingdoms often become sad,
or angry, or uneasy,
they often attack other kingdoms
because they give darkness the freedom to control them,
but this darkness is neither controlling nor controlled,
it is embraced.
This kingdom is great because it keeps darkness out of sight
and it always will be because it keeps it's darkness.

There's a Pill

I could take a pill
to fill these holes,
to sand down my edges
so I fit in a mold
where I can meet normal people
and say normal things
and do normal stuff
and think normal thoughts.
I could take a pill
to kill the loneliness
and the emptiness
and the helplessness,
but what else might it kill?

What if I took a pill,
that stifled my wonder
and suffocated my curiosity,
shrinking the vastness of my imagination,
collapsing my personal universe,
by killing the child inside?
What if I took a pill
that murdered my poetry,
erasing magnificent combinations of words
waiting to be used in verse,
and exterminated civilizations
and aborted characters
that haven't been written yet?

I could take a pill
to stop myself from hurting,
but what if I took the pill
and it stopped me from creating?

Under the Ice

The surface of the lake
is frozen over.
A crusted glaze
thick and cold
keeps its waters safe
from those outsiders
who would pollute it
and leave their mess
when they inevitably disappear.
It seems impenetrable,
as it so tries to be,
but if one were to look
carefully
one would see steam.
Somehow beneath the frozen surface
the waters are warm.
Life thrives under the ice,
and it yearns to be discovered.

Reaching

I walked today

along a path

green on both sides,

and full of life.

As I walked

I noticed

two trees with branches

stretched over the path

reaching towards one another

twisting and curling in such a way

you couldn't see the end of one branch

and the start of another.

They were beautiful in their desperation

and they pulled at something deep within me.

I felt a tug on my soul as I was reminded of the loneliness of being human.

Born with only half of ourselves we spend so many years just reaching;

Reaching for someone to hold onto

Reaching for the other half of ourselves

Reaching for something to fill the hole inside ourselves

Reaching for someone to love

I saw the pain of ever-reaching in the gnarled branches of those beautiful, desperate trees that lined the green path

on the way I walked.

Two Sides

If you were to pick up a penny,
rusted and scratched
so damaged you almost can't tell its a penny,
old, and lost, and long forgotten,
if you turned the penny over
to the other side,
it would likely look the same.

If you were to look through a window,
all fogged over
distorting the image of the things beyond,
dirty, and neglected, and seemingly useless,
if you walked 'round,
to the other side,
likely the view would be similar.

If you ever hear the story of a man,
beaten and bloodied
pushed to the point of self loathing,
sad, and lonely, and dying inside,
take a moment to find the guy
on the other side,
I'll bet you he's bleeding as well.