When he speaks

Listen: the sound of cool breeze and swift cars pass. These days grow new and eschew old in streams to an ocean of memory await. A long time has past since we fought, then we knew nought what it was. There was a boy long ago who constantly did, never ceasing; he would argue and attempt persuasion to an argument fraught with nought the meagre void for which they were. It seemed clear that none was the wiser, but he still persisted. Could we have been mistaken he was a fool? Well, I’m not sure; but he was thinking ahead, but now he’s shut in the bowels of a decreased mind in ware resolve.

So, we went to the river and looked ahead, and I saw him drooping with a head low down. It seemed like nothing at first. Though a single expression he showed, it was the rest he sowed. The rest was what I wanted to hear. He could not begin to express them, as he was in such a state that he knew not his real self. He knew not who he was or the very element of such an existence. I would say he’s neurotic, but that is enough pejorative than he could muster and solely accept. Bring him here, along the banks. A slow walk to the river, but there were toadstools and a sort of retreat from everything. It was peaceful here. Somehow, I thought he’d be himself. Let him wait. Let him move on. Close your eyes; breathe; become yourself.

Talking to himself he was, I knew it; he would. That’s who he is. No one could truly understand him, but that’s why we love him. He’s a mystery in some ways because he expresses so much without his expressing such himself. A man in a dark cave would see all in the light but not himself, and those exiled from whence could not see the man he is, but hear only faint words and a gasp for breath through each vowel ushered in the fold that cracks the tree.

Whether these troubles ill or will, nor the solutions apt or sapped, the leaves shall still grow again the next spring, once the cold is spent; the ice is thawed. Now, give a bird her nest and let us be free; leave your problems there: four-score a threat is that which resides within. So dark is this come mind; see the light, now breathe it out so I can at least get some rest!

“I tried, but I can’t.” He claims. “It would not be the same without me. I try to be good, but it doesn’t work out good. I fail in everything and I try to succeed in hopes of compensation.” But this compensation, for what? You are whole, and need not compensate for your losses for there was never no loss to begin with! “Now, I see. There’s a loss in your logic, but now I exceed your bounds of reasoning with my flaws in prose and rhyme”. Not not could it be his wits, then let it sing through this, nor walk through river to swim, now leave that so grim-

“Perhaps. But I’m not ready.”

A trip to all those who know, and being with new folk will make a difference. Open yourself as you did a child and let the good change you. The bad have changed you at that age to grow you a man as you are now; but it doesn’t have to be that way. Do not let them win. You are better than that.

“Perhaps; but I don’t know what I want.”

You want to be yourself again. You’ve succeeded. You are yourself here. Now, with every step you walk from here shall you plant a seed that shows who you are, where you are and when you are.

*

Every sound becomes a noise,
Every noise becomes an echo,
And every echo becomes a memory,
And every memory becomes ripple in the ocean,
And every ripple joins the waves at sea,
And every wave moves a stone ashore,
And every stone becomes the sand,
And every sand we walk,
And we gaze beneath the sun, above the sky,
And every sight becomes the last night.

How tastes your sorrow sweet delight,
These words falling like shallow rain
Could then bring tears in darkest night,
Not so much man to ease his reign
On feud in he within resides,
But cool in thought but jest he laughs
Through which he brushes tears aside
Then claims this cup of water nought,
But even holy tears they seem
Ere drunk from which is best foresought,
Nor Sirens’ call true redeem:
So he knows more himself to feel.

The darks are turned, the breath is laughed,
A stone unturned, ere breaks a wheel,
Winks aside, freaks alight now toughed
To shame all but none himself. So peel
Every soul, every man, all he is,
In school was taught and break in bar,
But demon instinct call him to this:
So now he is brought through the bar,
And come never the stakes so high,
Lidless ego whined for a while,
But all he tastes was blood so nigh.

Mirror

Years past since his mother a mirror bestowed,
Oh, adorned silver on silver etched light glowed:
Beheld a man of one whose first gift he saw,
In bitter hopes a greater value accost how sore
That this mirror was accepted ne free nor free,
But the price he pays is but age in cast to glee,
The falls of Earth, of rock, fire, the ether new,
Close thine eyes and breathe this soft kiss grew,
Whence fleeting joys ere placed in life’s disgrace,
Shall he look at the mirror and observe such a face
That changed for years that blew at speed, so bless:
He grew, he learnt, and a habit he knows at best
Is to observe himself and all he is and he shall be,
As the years grow, his face so changed he described ne,
Whatever account his life writ on heart and mind essay
So breathes the mirror to describe faint what ought to say,
From teen years rough, to mid years contrite, et cetera;
So long as he reflects, and knows all. The next day an era,
To look upon that which is mother, long passed, had given,
He looks, and thus he sees and he was in this world to live in.

*

At the casting dawn, no star no bright,
Did see it through the turmoil peaked,
In pleasure fought but pain embraced,
Sleepless brought, no mind would cease,
In the brink of hollow, so much as horror,
Did see the light, these paths unchained,
Who moves with wheezing gasp to shed,
Now saw himself between shadow and shade,
In lidless hue the breath he can’t deny,
So soon he bode in wreaths come align,
The chest so red and lips so swollen,
With changed voice from tongue to swell,
And ere brought from here to deepened downs,
Nor south may make south heaven again,
Did cease to be, and all was slammed indeed,
Now he returned and himself brought asunder,
How yea lifeless and soon he walked away,
So once he returns now warns himself this peril,
This musing night, so life do your worst,
He’ll walk again and muster rain and heat,
So he shall rise again with no relent to pass,
This hour is the hour he is. Oh yes;
Nothing will make him stand at bay,
At the birth of light, his life stood anew.

A wandering stranger

Some time ago, it was almost a speck; a boy I knew, but he was a strange guy. I didn’t know exactly who he was, but I could relate to him somehow. He loved to wander around in streets, even parks, the bay, under the night, lidless sky could not bind him away. I’d see him from time to time, walking. To no end. He would pass through the canals, cross the bridge, delve below a tunnel, and keep walking. He didn’t exactly know where he was going I thought; he kept moving back and forth, even looking yond his shoulder back. Whether paranoid or no, he seemed cautious. A hint of anxiety kept him, but he still kept going, somehow.

Beside the fact: this was years ago. I can’t believe it – five years. It was that long for a man his age; but five years can be five minutes in a squared amount of time. Anyway, I followed him. I wanted to know what he was doing, where he was walking, where he was going, the air he breathed, the sights he saw, the cars he heard, the people who laughed, and all the swans that swum past the brewing glow. This glow nought I had, in bitter thought comes shaking sleep. ‘Tis sound alone he ought to keep, the rest is bark to sleep. In this space, in this hour, half his sight was cast in gaze, the rest is brought in dark ahead.

Some hour later, he stopped where I just knew where he would stop. This was it. I cried. This was it. It all happened here. The beginning of an evening; the end of the morning; the start of endless night eclipsed by sun under the farthing sun. Everything just fades; echoes – echoes, into the fold. A sound deep, be it consumed in dark. Within this realm, there were no street lights, no. It was all different, you see. A bridge was yond from here, and there were lights, with some not lit. It seemed like it dimmed a road, and this was where he followed through.

Step by step, breath from breath, reduced to congealed blood that soured his heart, soon he kept his pace. His heart boiled and kettled vapour through each lung that sunk cold breezy air and dispersed a new life into the air around him. Within this dark manifold of sempre solitude shook the break of his communal worship in the gait that forsook his brow that gestured at the slightest sound that cast him from here to worlds above, so far from he, and not so far from reach.

Beneath two towering blocks, whose fumes used to bring gaze from all the city at long lost thoughts of musing jeer, at fusing cloth brought freezing fear fraught with a demise of a lost city buried under nostalgic price in gaping memory of one so lost. He stood beneath the biggest tower, sat on the grass, breathed the air. Thus seeing five brilliants of the night, felt four fragments of memory, heard thrice a wolf, a distant footstep and a ripple wrung with stone; twice he smelt a cool air and the smell of distant trees bellowing before him. Once he breathed, he became whole again. Once he breathed, he became me again.

*

Nor could he accept who once he was,
From the ashes his blood shall mould,
From ash image anew shall form,
Here neath come man he ought to be.
The space between him and world far,
A breath of light this sun dispel,
As strangers known in kindled grey,
As bitter friends, himself betray,
And all the days in mieu regained,
In he married, in joy retained,
Now small hills keep watch of spelt sun,
Rays would write his name in gold,
The steps he take now a stone print,
To look back, and all that comes here.

*

And from where wings are clipped,
Held by branches these thorns hold,
Ere mine how soft is brought to fall,
Tender sleeps the eyes their locked soul,
Who frees himself from veins how scratched,
No better the darts in bars ye throw,
He would walk through them as he does in you,
Mentor the lights to guide your path away
For fire brewed in heart at angst with mind,
Nay, it ought be for leverage gain in sight,
And the cello plays, nor Marais complain;
Cast me away to the sound of beauty regain.
‘Tis in the nineteenth year this century,
When written a year earlier a man forsook.
Now art be gain, ’tis loss be had in shook,
Now finished are words wiser for hearth fought,
Now marred by feline cues this man is sold.
A cello, and a piano is violin but ears unfold.