Disclaimer:
A lot of my personal poetry has inconsistent rhyme, it breaks grammatical laws and the confines normal sentence structure. This is intentional. It all holds symbolism to me. I could interpret it. I could leave a recording of my reading it to show how the speed and ebb of its roll and flow. But I will not.
Art is not a lecture. It is not a sermon. It is not to be obeyed.
Art is an expression. The rest is interpretation.
It may be a call to fight. But it doesn’t not speak to a trained ear like a trumpet sounding for battle.
Art speaks to the heart. To the unsuspecting. It plants a seed in the soil that knew not it was lacking.
Expression, interpretation, expression- the cycle grows.
Skilled artistry is not the simply ability to mold, maneuver, or make. Skilled artistry is the ability to package what is real into what is tangible.
It is not an ability I claim. But it is what I find in my life as I allow the greatest artist to be the author and perfector of my faith. It is what I strive toward.
Poema created in advance to do good works.
there in the darkness
In an abandoned house you stand,
in an abandoned room.
where the walls are stripped
floorboards creak
the taller grown trees over loom.
And there in the darkness, I’ll find you.
In it’s anger, dust still falls;
ghostly made glitter
it rolls through moonlight with grace.
The forgotten world
stays in it’s sleep,
and all that moves does not live.
Stale are the curtains
that were left there to dry.
Now tilted in shadowed sweet breeze.
And there you stand
with the pride of a man
in the ache of the gray
grey decayed space.
Your eyes held closed
as if to hear sounds,
or to feel inner chills
interlace.
Empty you are
And empty you’ll be
And empty you wait
till the end.
Head balanced just so
the shoulders do crane
to bear a shell chested man.
This little boy
who got lost in the trees
lost to chase
his own make believe
twisting in leaves,
glimpsed reality
to dizzy to land
and without a new end
found the old house
where to stand.
See where his footsteps
have marched through the forest
The woodland scepters
have been tossed a side.
Here, faster footsteps,
at the sound of them calling
When no one had called
Here’s the ‘good hole to hide.’
Distance and time
have danced over space
The glimmering world
on rotating end.
Like a jewelry box song
life keeps on turning
like a memory
you’ve swollen to large
to enter again.
There in the darkness
you stay awake.
without a dream
or a nightmare to shake
You stand
you stand
while midnight continues
to never end.
You.
Never to move,
to stretch or to bend
lest the rotting collapse
lets the basement ascend
And swallow you whole
like a fish or the wind
or the sun in it’s fury
or the black of the night
that steals you away
by a bats sudden flight.
Hush. Still. Stand.
Wait. For the quiet
.the quiet hushed end.
In the woods
in abandoned house
in little living room
that knows no more
what it isn’t.
There is no true gunpoint
for you little solider,
though you’ve been
stolen from the fight
to stand in the line.
And though you feel
the snakes glossy slither,
his bristled bright tether.
cold on your neck
dry, frozen, wet,
There’s no noose for you.
not you, little warrior.
still you’ve learned
not to breath,
forgotten your
And there in the darkness, I’ll find you.
Over the floorboards, I’ll creep.
Without light of day, I’ll see you,
though you’re painted
in grey shades of deep.
I’ll find you,
being found for the first:
Like life long lovers,
at the end of night dance,
I’ll cling to you softly,
I’ll hold you too closely,
Each moment to soon
To move again yet.
I’ll stay as long as you let me
As long as there need be,
There in the darkness,
I’ll stay.
Soft cheek, pressed to stone chest
Waiting for life and it’s bloom.
The pink of mouth
Silently moves
in a wishfulness loom
There they will search
To shape words unsaid
That rise from the heart
Like souls from the dead
And there in the darkness, I’ll find you.
In the lost night, we will be found.
For the whispers of day,
I will seek you,
Like the sojourner
Who kissed solid ground.
The trail of salt shimmers,
The heart beats again,
While the daylight lullaby
Finds its way in.
The form of what was one,
Takes a new shape,
As the form that is two
Wait for daybreak.
And the endless life
Of death descends.
The walls of the house
Are painted by glow again,
In the amber warmth of light
Sight it makes it’s way in.
And the floorboards
Hold in their place,
Past the rubble stones
Of the old fireplace,
And through the frame
That’s lost it’s door,
And down the steps
That ascend no more,
The path slides through
A woodland embrace,
And stretch as far,
As the eye can trace.
For where there is one,
One waits for the end.
When there is more
Something begins.
Somewhere in the heart
We learn how to say:
“This world can’t be
such a terrible place.”
While the seas and skies,
Suspended in blue,
echo this promise:
“If ever there darkness
I’ll find you.”
rest.
rest.
Sea…
BT
