On the first day
He ran toward her mother
To the kitchen where she busied for dinner
Telling her his problems at school
But she didn’t listen
So he cried alone
So he looked for Ben, his father
So he waited
That’s the time his father never came back.
On the third day
He ran toward the cedar lane
To the big apple tree
Watching the fruit if it’s ready
But it’s not
So he went home
So he called Shirley, his friend
So he waited
That’s the time he promised to her.
As the spider knits its web…
The spider moved its legs
Came down the green curtain
Paraded, crisped, paused, paraded
Perfect place to web a home
It heard shouts, rumbles
Noise was drawing near
A door opened in a roar
Swallowing the terror of the hidden crime
A girl, cries for help
Yet nothing but walls called hear
Following, men of three
Smiling – no- laughing Continue reading
Of what he fears beyond hate
That he doesn’t feel any hate.
Naming what he felt as love.
He lives in hate.
He had grown in hate.
He hated the mother who left him.
He hated the father who was gone.
He hated the world.
The world who did nothing.
Nothing but hate him.
Hate is what he only knows.
Yet, he felt fear.
He’s afraid of this unnamed emotion.
This absence of hate.
Telling that he never hated the girl before him.
He was afraid.
That it’s a feeling,
More tragic than what hate could offer.
Creeping under the unknown breath of winter
Over its white blanket and under its silver sky.
Life of what’s known years ago.
Now lost, gone, and can’t tell why.
This is a story,
Of what’s seen.
Untold fierceness and beauty.
Defined through eyes of no form.
Yet damned. Continue reading