self opposition

ocean slams
into the breaking wall.
i build this wall,
reinforcing with steel beam,
concrete and stone.
higher and higher it goes,
deeper and wider i build.

ocean crashes onto my shore, washes over my sand covered feet.

oh, my sea love, take me back into your depths.
fill my lungs with your salty waters
so that my song can spill out
and i can once again
dance the delight of words.


--bruised orange

departure

we walked on down the road, following in the shadows of each other's love,
the sweet scent of the sycamore trees distracting us.

we saw a good distance down the red dirt road,
saw enough to know what lay around the bend,
yet we walked on, content in the knowing of the present day,
caught in that moment that felt like a forever memory from childhood.
it was hot cocoa and animal crackers until the third mile.

you, with your hand stretched out towards mine.
me, with my fingers thus entwined, caught in
that moment of the falling sycamore leaves,
the crisp fall air, the red dirt road,
the lingering memories that blinded us to the changing seasons
of our hearts, to the curve of departure up ahead.


--bruised orange

i stand here, tossing pennies

the poisoned well of my inspiration
no longer quenches the thirst of my longing.
those crystal clear waters that once sustained me and
were a balm to my parched lips
are now tainted with the quick silvered
spill of regret.

i stand here, peering into these waters.
i wonder, can this well be saved? or should
i take the advice of the experts, and cap it
now, before it takes another life?

i beat my head against the cold stones
of my resistance. giving up is so hard;
it runs counter to my nature. i stand here,
watching as an acid rain falls down.

i stand here, my eyes locked on the scattered
image of myself in the water below. i stand here,
my feet frozen in their place. i stand here, tossing
pennies at a face with eyes accusing, eyes with
answers i don't want to know.


--bruised orange

you can't blame this silence

you can't blame this silence


this silence is the other sort.
not the silence of stillness born,
that meditative calm that washes
you when morning's light shyly
peeks through your curtains.

no, this is the malignant sort, an out of
control cellular growth that pushes out
other thought and claims the territories
of your mind all for himself.

this silence screams at you, "listen to me!"
and you can't do anything but hear his absent voice.

this is the silence that shoves his way into your brain
and demands attention, stamps his foot and shouts
"look at me!" and all you can do is stare at his
invisible face.

you wonder, "who are you, to invade my sanctuary?"

but then you remember, you left your key laying casually
on the window sill outside your door, red ribbon tied on,
an exclamation point.

no, you can't blame this silence.
you are the one who left the light burning in your window all night long.


--bruised orange