Monday, May 9, 2022

Alternate title: Final Étude des Liberté

In the America I knew you loved me

But that was years ago

Before we saw the future

Before we were wise enough to know

That it had all been an illusion

One that in many prefer to stay

But I could never exist

If we were to continue that way

Some dreams are meant to be broken

Just to shake ourselves awake

Few things can be truly healing:

Surgical wounds; unpacking heartache.

Once this morning fog has lifted

And the world has enough data to go

I’m here to pick up my pieces

Of destruction unintentionally sewn

A Moment Aflame – A Poem

Here’s a poem I wrote in 2016. Some poems age into themselves and their meanings change to readers over time based on current events. I won’t attempt to provide explanation or analysis. I do hope it resonates with you though.

As usual, the poem is mostly unrelated to the image

A Moment Aflame

at tables cleaned and polished by our own hands we sit
attempting personal renaissance:
a moment in time caught fire.
we sit, write, talk, eat, drink, breathe in-
to creation
the desperation
for a life out-
side of this very existence
controlled by desire to satiate the disease of purpose
symptoms driven deep into young minds by
careless words;
unanswered questions:
unfulfilled dreams pushed onto another generation
as lost grown children wander with empty eyes and imploding hearts.

they told us we were equal,
instead,
we are searching for explanations –
why this world has treated our existences like matches:
struck aflame
burned out
thrown away

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this poem today. If it speaks to you and you find connection, please let me know by liking, commenting, or sharing this post. This helps me know which posts my readers like best.

Remember, without you these words would serve no one other than myself and the company getting paid to host the data.