The Nature of Boredom

There is a river
Bisecting the land
One side irreparably divided
From the other.
It's alive,
A creature teeming,
Rushing, swallowing
Everything in its wake.
There is no crossing:
It consumes land bars and bridges alike
Dividing left from right
One people from another.
They see their enemy
In all of its cold fury,
and hate it in turn,
An enemy they don't know how to fight.
So, day after day they stare into is azure depths
Throwing stones and spears which are soon swept away
Until one day they look up from their constant contemplation
Eyes lock, the wind changes and nature takes its course.
The first shot hits home
It is unutterably satisfying
To see enraged red
Rather than indifferent blue.
There is nothing left,
Just decay feeding a land grown over
The Earth opening its maw and swallowing
Until no trace of disturbance is left,
The only movement,
The river flowing to the sea.

Self Discovery in Juxtaposition

There is this blessed thing
In an empty house
That sucks in all the oxygen
Dampening the room
The air thick, oppressive
But it is a thing of wonder
A beautiful golden light
That dimly glows a beacon
Through the cloying, stagnant air.
The air thickens with proximity
Pulling and pushing at the body
Keeping it immobile from
This perfect point of joy.
Only a great will
Can carry on
Rather than slowing and stopping, immobile
The candle is well worth the effort,
But I doubt my will is so great.

The Awkward Rhyme Scheme (To Match the Awkward Subject Matter)

Your body lay against the rocks,
Broken down with sorrow.
There is no peace here.
Only a fevered battle cry against the morrow.
Your eyes stark white against crimson locks,
There is no peace here.
The undertaker approaches, he stands and waits,
As a procession of other bodies come, go and investigate.
There is no peace here.
While it's their place to wonder at what may or may not occur,
It's not their place to wonder at what you were.
There is no peace here.
That is for the media to decide,
To determine with more imagination than any note, what you were before you died.
There is no peace here.

A Passer By

There is a pool of blood
Cool and deep
Congealing beneath the head
Of a perfect stranger
Who I poke with a stick
Out of simple curiosity
It's not like I killed this person.
There is a disconnect
He is him,
And I am me
There is nothing here to bind us.
Still, here lies an oddity
A thing easily captured in a million words,
None of which do it justice.
An odd turning of the Earth
Which will envelop him.
I reach out and pinch my hand,
Holding my breath,
I exhale.
Why don't I feel anything?

Waiting for God

I lost my way
And, perplexed,
I tired to retrace my steps
Only to find that they were gone
With no trace of where they'd been,
Or where they were going.
Erased from time
Past, present, and future.
I stared,
My eyes transfixed
To a blank canvas,
And tried to determine
Where they should be.
I screamed and wept,
As the knowledge was no forthcoming,
Out my displeasure
To the ruined land.
I dug bloody furrows in the earth
Hunting for where my footprints had been buried.
Utterly lost,
A universe misplaced in an atom.
I took a deep breath
And stepped outside myself
Once and again
Until my internal self matched my external state,
And then,
I knew where I was.

It's Just a Cultural Difference, Really

It looks at me
Across the table,
This insect
Sat in a chair.
It chitters
In its own perplexing way
With no concern
For my appetite
Or the dinner that is growing cold.
It's antennae move, from side to side
Causing me to consider
Asking it to wash my windshield,
As I lift my spoon
To brave eating once more.
It chitters
I lay down my spoon, lean forward and listen
Carefully
Silence
I take up my spoon once more
It chitters
I stare intently
Silence
I lift the spoon to my mouth
Its limbs flail
It chitters
I drop my spoon
And stare down, horror filled, into the bowl
Where it has laid its eggs
It chitters
I look up
It's laughing at me.

Just Across the Water

The end falls out
Lost without center,
There is no comfort here.
An ocean of eyes staring
From within the shadow of a faceless sea.
Pay a penny to the boatman
To ferry you across
To an island populated by eyeless faces
Not really alive.
They kneel, very still at the water's edge:
Arms back, slack jawed faces turned towards the sky.
Their stillness stifles and thickens the air
Until dusk, when it is rent apart by movement
As they tear at each others flesh
Consuming one another until the frenzy ends.
As all dies down, and the boatman slides away
In the distracting stillness that follows.
The remains slip into the sea.
Why did you come here?

Projected Idealism

We drop bombs on the brave
Who stand still with their arms spread
Waiting, breathless
To take the fire into their souls:
Idealistic pillars
Of how we wish our friends could be
And fear our enemies are.
Self sacrifice and suicide
Made noble and ignoble
In a single piece of fractured glass
Reflecting vacant eyes
Alive but emptied
In that final moment
When death is not possible
But imminent
Unavoidable
A wash of pain
Despondent.

Prison for an Egg

Within the nexus
Of a ball of yarn,
Hopelessly knotted,
With both ends
buried in the center,
There is a tiny egg:
A splinter of life
Pulsing outwards
But misdirected
Within the labyrinthine cocoon.
Never reaching daylight,
It lays there:
Perfection contained without,
While the imperfect power within
Stutters, stagnates, stops
Petrifies.
A wondrous treasure,
A gift at night,
Orphaned by day,
A worthlessly expensive candle.
Either way, nothing more
Than a messy, tangled
Mass of string
With a prize inside.

Under a Rock

I hide within my shell,
An empty thing,
There is no light behind us
The walls of this womb
Painted in sepia tones,
A wasteland of distended flesh.
I dare not come out
To view the world
A war zone,
Home to
Cautiously vindictive creatures,
As much a study in decadence
As denial.
The tendency to feel guilt
And entitlement
In equal measure:
Finding pleasure in
Self flagellation
Is enough to inspire
The wish
To have never been born:
So I stay inside and
Avoid such heavy risks
That could lead
To such heavy regrets,
A practical coward
For a modern world.