Cruel Fickle Fate

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Haa, this is pretty cringey. I must’ve been around fourteen when I wrote it? I even thought it was passable when I reread it a few years ago. Now it pains me… oh, so much. That’s proof of how much I’ve learned.

Enjoy.

 

 

I first noticed your gait, and your carriage, your state

Then the look in your eyes took me right by surprise.

I knew not fickle Fate had been lying in wait

Creeping silently nigh, telling love to arise

 

When I realized what happened, I was far too late

I was caught in the clutches of cruel fickle Fate

In hindsight, my life grew gradually towards you

But I saw it not, no, naught I saw ‘til ‘twas through.

 

Years of calluses cut in a single, swift blow

How did I let it happen? I simply don’t know

But I cherished your care, you’re still dearer than air

Though you’re now underground, now I drown without you.

 

I followed, thou led — O cruel fickle Fate!

Thou’d said we would wed — O God, now this hate!

Thou’d left me for dead — I wept, thou unmoved

I watched as thou bled — how dearly I’d loved!

 

You know I still love thee, Beloved, Unlovéd

I know you’re above me, Unlovéd, Beloved

You hurt me, I hate thee, Beloved, Unlovéd

I’ll never forgive thee, Unlovéd, Beloved

Why did you leave me,  Beloved, Unlovéd

I had to revenge me, Unlovéd, Beloved

Murder isn’t easy,  Beloved, Unlovéd

Why’d you make me hurt thee? Unlovéd, Beloved

I’m torn in between me —  Beloved, Unlovéd

I love thee, I hate thee — Unlovéd, Beloved

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reflecting Pond

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still pond, clear water
timeless clarity

a spotted koi
insatiable little fish
wide open maw
gulping, gulping
food, acorns, dirt, air
anything it can swallow
feed it and it doubles
in size, in need
churning the water
begging to be filled
tearing the perfect reflection
into ten thousand tiny pieces

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

American Catacombs

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In the dim chambers of the lowest levels of the parking garage dwells eternal somnolent twilight. It is cold, too; the kind of cold that seeps from the corners of places entombed in deep earth.

Things which fall here remain here. There is no rain to wash away the spilled coffee, dried into long sticky drips that stretch toward the center of the floor. No friendly disinfecting sunshine can undo the collecting or molding of misplaced, forgotten items. Instead objects are mummified, fossilized, everything being dried and pressed and dusted into a uniform concrete gray. An old apple carelessly dropped out of the flow of  creeping traffic is now a wrinkled wad, its color and vitality sublimated, as it oozes into partial union with the floor.

There is a drain, but if the rain ever falls hard enough to touch this place, the water runs UP instead of DOWN. The single round grate, intended as a point of exit, rushes and gargles under inbound pressure, a burbling fountain of runoff and dried leaves, as the things above push their way down, struggle to get here, vie for their own, so to speak, parking space.

It is a vault, a modern catacomb, an unnatural cave. The darkness rests here. It whispers to you in the hissing of cars passing overhead. It asks you to stay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What is Genius

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What is a genius?
A confluence of creativity
Originality
Luck
And popularity
All meeting together
At the right time and place in history.

A meteor hits the planet
Changes the landscape and leaves a brief splash
On the fluid culture of humanity
See how it slowly refills itself
As we forget the work of our geniuses
Even the mark from an impact like that
Heals.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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