from the realm of letters

Dear You (well both of you, actually),
I don't know what to tell you, really...there is no right answer, there is no black and white or set in stone. I can't tell you if it'll work, I am helpless to time, I can only listen to the here-and-now and hope that's enough. Muddled dreams and aspirations and lost perception...maybe not lost, but replaced by an unfamiliar void in self, an abyss that falls to the depths of humanity. And that's if you give me the words...otherwise I'm helpless even to listen.
Please, stop beating yourself up. You mean more to me than you'll ever know, far too much for that. No one's perfect, if you were you'd be an abstraction. So if you could kindly cut yourself some slack, you'd be giving someone some peace of mind.
Always,
Chris.

how ironic

you remember how you told me something awhile ago?
it was an insight, a
prediction of sorts.
I didn't think much of it then
in fact if I remember right
I laughed.
wishful thinking
but nevertheless
impossible.

and now
after all this time
who would've known you were right all along?

all to pieces.

and so it takes to the air
an orb of radiance
her glowing thought
manifested
so perfect brilliant unscathed
flaming the color of her copperblonde hair
her idea.

it shimmers around the edges
hanging there
a mirror she offers
gleaming talisman,
the answer you didn't know you
were looking for in the
reflection flashing silver.

I wish I could do that.

but alas
the beauty of silence is broken
shattering her image
as I watch glory fade
collapsing from sheer weight of
those prying words,
brilliant silvers and bronzes dulling
to a charred black.
its misshapen form crumbles
sagging to a pile of ashes
she gathers the withered remains
at her feet
for apparently we must not
stray to abstract lands
while we are here.

From All Angles

tearstains?
salt traces?
or is it something else entirely,
that simple act
of shedding tears?
tearstains—
no, they can be wiped away almost
effortlessly.
but how can one
so nonchalantly
wipe off that smudge on the heart?

it's more the flooding
tears welling up
vision blurring as they escape
from our
deepest reserves of emotion—
for is it not true
the eyes
are window to the soul?

No. Anything But That

No
Don't dare
use
that weapon
on me.
You think
I don't know?
You think the knowledge
hasn't already
killed me
inside
ruined me
seeped into me
and
drips
now, only
as poison?
How could you be
so cruel?
I thought you actually
cared.

Just.
please.
No.
Rip
open that
wound
and I swear.
I'll be gone
and trust
that you won't be able to find me.

Trespass?

We run
across neat green landscape
manicured hills
groomed sandpits
trimmed
proper
spick and span
clearly not famililar
with harmless trodding
mild disturbance.

grass is damp
our feet squish
water sprays
we fly
wood block bridge
floating moss
marshy pond of glass
mirror for willows
pillow for horizon
upon which rise mountains
framing a melting
sweltering
buttery yellow moon.

Oh
we dance
through colors of sunset
skip
across rocks
over bibbling
babbling
brook
sprint
the four of us
just to see
whose legs are longest.

We run
set free
by this carefree jubilation
joy unleashed
bubbling over
laughter.

And so we return
hearts filled
and overflowing
with that elation
and they tell us
we've been
trespassing
on the golf course.

In Resistance. but not how you'd expect it

I wade through darkness, a murky, thick muddle of lost aspirations and abandoned dreams, a graveyard of unkept secrets and imprisoned memories. The shallow water laps at my ankles, and suddenly I know I have been here before in this cavern. A wind rises from nowhere, whispering that I'm alone here, that it's dangerous, that I better turn back, but I wade deeper, closing my eyes as the cold rises to my knees, to my waist, to mid-stomach. I open my eyelids, but nothing changes. It is pitch black, there are no discernable shapes or figures, and for a moment I am afraid I've made a mistake, that this isn't the right place after all. I spin around and put my arm out, moving toward the gentle thrumming till my hand hits the rough wall of the cave. I stand and listen as the thrumming becomes a melody I remember from a lifetime past, a song I know I've never heard but that I recognize all the same. My hands grope the surface of the cave until my fingertips find the rust of the heavy chain. I pull hard, propelling my bodyweight backwards as my feet sink into the muddy bottom. The iron door creaks open and with it spring the line of defenses, a flood of temptations, doubts, forbidden desires...intangible as everything else, but I feel their hunger for human emotion, their depth of darkness.

Just beyond the door. I can do this. I close my eyes and with it my heart, focusing in on the black behind my eyelids till I can imagine the light, and when I can I follow it through the door, untouched by evil. This is the place. I can feel it. Warm skin touches mine and I sag in relief. "You've made it," he murmurs, shutting the door with a click as we embrace. They won't find us here. We're safe for the moment, masked in time and darkness. But we both know it's not these wards that will keep them at bay. We have a weapon they don't know how to fight. Love. Love is our resistance.

inspired from "Resistance" by Muse