Splintered
A life splinters into years,
years into months,
Months, day
Days, hours
Hours, Minutes…seconds.
My hands scared
Trying to piece it together
Time spent pulling splinter
from my heart, hands and feet.
Groaning……it’s all wrong.
It’s all wrong, my perspective.
Broken, yes, but splinters
Into a beautiful mosaic.
I’ve caught a glimpse of
Fallen in love
Within the confines
Of her skin,
Her skull,
In an atmosphere of intrigue
Dwelt beings of monstrous
compassionate inclination:
She’d gravitate towards
The needy, the ‘no-gooders’
Exploited, drained,
Clogged, lost.
In desperate need
Of rest, of silence
But all she got was
A never ending din of
‘Oughts’, and ‘Shoulds’
That only relented
When she got going, doing.
Life is a lot
Like a Game
Of Chess, She said.
And that’s the Problem:
I don’t play chess,
Don’t Know how.
But have always felt
Caught, in a game
With ambiguous rules.
I could see patterns,
Certain predictable repetitions
But never the whole picture.
Learning takes a lifetime,
And by the time you’ve figure,
or began to, it’s too late,
Your time’s up!
Hey, lone star
Lingering, waiting
On morning, on day.
You remind me
Of when I was younger,
As I still am
Lingering.
Look! What splendor!
It’ll wipe you right out.
Won’t share,
you’ll never see
The light of day,
The sparkling dew.
But you’re made
For night anyways.
It’s all wrong, you moan.
How I am: a contradiction.
And I concur.
But this, your proposed script, for me
It’s flawed. If
It’s me, mine
How then does it not
Align with my interest.
It’s not a blank, my life
For you to scribble on.
I will not trash it, this script
I’ll keep it, a reminder
When things get tough,
That it could be worse,
I could be living someone elses
Idea of me.
Attention like
Some fine wine
Makes her head light.
She busks in its glamour,
Oblivious of
Tomorrow;
Unwilling to consider
The grass of the field.
Her life
A brilliant poem
Traced out
In the minds of
Her contemporaries,
But like sand are
Soon blown away.
Her memory erased.
You’re
A
Sad
Song
On repeat, she said
It’s exhausting,
she added.
A muffled sound,
At a distance:
A gunshot,
Or that book
Knocked off the
Bedside stand.
I nod off.
Uncertain.
A writers
On the balcony,
Looking into the distance.
In the silence
My day dissolves
Into thoughts.
I need words!
But all I get
Images,
Figures that huant:
‘I shouldn’t have’
‘Why did I.. ‘
I bit my lips,
Tighten my fist,
Stay put.
It all washes over me,
Soo cold.
When the words come
I write them down,
Then read—
And shudder.
An invitation.
A promise.
Like a chick
Out of a shell,
The suns radiance
Shoots firely arrows,
Kindling hope in each
heart it touches.
This is new, never
Been here before,
Never will again.
I wont miss it,
This time.
kimanian 