Monthly Archives: May 2014

Insomnia

“Soon, this will be just an awful memory.
Will I ever be able to sleep again?”
 
– Curse of the Virgin Canvas, Alesana
 
 

Last night, you didn’t sleep.

Your messages were answered

by mechanical silence.

On the day of the first

when people bring back

the memories of the dead.

 

Last night, sleep was a poison.

In which I slept and fed upon

and it crawled through your anger

and ate our soul like a knife

splitting everything in two

and blurring our sight.

 

I’d thought of taking pills

but remedies aren’t solution

to this scene of motion-sickness

brought upon the rides we had shared

up and down to sides and all the way around

in a fun fair of roller coasters every night and day

where the air muffled our screams and cries

six-feet deep below the ground with

one of our feet beneath the hole

as if we are trying to crawl

in our respective caskets

and ready ourselves

as our hearts break

for one more time

again and leave

ourselves

at piece.

 

Last night became a summary

of emotions, of laughter and cries,

longing and goodbyes. Indifference, to flight

as I was high above the sky and you

pulled me close after listening to the music

woven by metaphors of day and night

and of suns and moons.

 

Last night was a living dream,

a disaster and a night mare

that could put us both in an

endless startled gaze.

Stunned and motionless.

Eyes unwavering

as we looked into the distance

That kept us apart

and brought forth

the sleepless nights you’ve had

and come into an argument

I wish I never lacked.


Self-induced Comatose

Let us not try to uncover

The idea behind this poem.

Such words elude meaning

As if a potion for death

After our very last breath.

 

This could be something else entirely.

Doing away with your interpretation

With nothing, not even my perception

Is gullible enough for these words’ misdirection.

 

This could be an explosive

To the door of your world of thoughts

Being in itself the meaning

In your own definitive scale.

 

This could be a pause;

A living poem in a hiatus

To the world we despise

Along with my anguished cries.

 

This could be nothing

As it’s supposed to be.

However, being nothing

Is being like anything.

 

Anything this could ever be

Like water taking the form of its container

To be something more than it already is

Escaping from the imagined reality.


Home

As I pass this familiar street

Never has I been so keen with the houses

The architecture, build and space

Like a vision of our future

Confined and safe inside those walls and bricks

Of stones and unchanging wills,

Of ourselves and of promises kept,

A vow, of passing of times sailing the sea

to eternity.

Nonetheless, these houses

Are only containers to the very thing

We’ve built.

It is not love that made us vulnerable

To invincibility, nor the essence

of our very being that coexist with one another.

It is us that was once were two

Separated by distance and lived as fools.

Star-crossed lovers that defied the rules

Unpacking the words and turning them to visible hues.

Everybody can live in a house

But these things we dreamed of,

We already have the chance

Not only to live in a house

But a home – a hope to shine upon.