A young poet
Lives
An imagined future
Of perfect words
And perfect loves
And even their pain
is idealized
Flawless exhaustion
Brittle and crystallized
In the palm of their hand
Imagine then
Their disappointment
To discover the aches
In their limbs
Their mind
And their heart
Were not exquisite
Leaving them no choice
But to live
And find beauty anyway
Time tapped my shoulder. "No, thank you", I said "I'm not a dancer." But it took the lead anyway Dragging me into a waltz With my memories In the twirling swirl Of mind, body, and shadow As the evening sun went down I remember
The truth is We are screened in By screens From all sides One side watches While the other Is asked to lose their selves Like when before Our corrections We are told To put in the bin Our dangerous truth Along with Our dangerous Belts and wristwatches From the other
Rain falls causing all in its wake to slumber. And as they close their eyes Mountains fall into hills. Sleeping, dreaming. And as they dream, They cry. A river Sprouts from higher ground And it, too, falls As all things do. Apart, away, across, always Down slopes That were once
I am waking. The pounding wet patter Upon my blind windows Pushes me from sleep Into life once more. You are the driving rain And I am at your mercy. I am flying. Grasped by the howling gale My old discarded selves Scatter, are thrown about Given flight once more.