The Hallowed Light of Home

None take notice

of the lamp that swings,

a guiding light

even on the darkest night,

stagger forward

with a shiver in your spine,

as wind whips and

the sounds of horror

abound.

Up and down,

orange and black,

the smell of cavities

and cheap

dollar store make-up.

And all around,

all you see

are the ghosts

and the monsters,

the witches

and all manner of damned characters.

But you remain resilient,

and push forward,

searching,

determinedly seeking out 

the light that leads home.

Happy (belated) Halloween, you candy-crazy beasts.

Freedom

This shouldn't have had to happen.

No one should have died,

no one should have shot rounds,

no one should have to grieve,

for a nation, and the world, to become united.

But alas, it has happened,

and it is a reminder to all

of the fragile freedoms

we enjoy and take for granted.

Today shines as a dark day,

as it so dims to a bright night,

on the strength of us all,

wavering but never extinguishing.

It has happened, and now,

we must ensure,

that it never happens again,

not here, not anywhere.

R.I.P. Corporal Nathan Cirillo and Warrant Officer Patrice Vincent. We thank you for your generous sacrifice. I hope you're both having poutines with God right about now.

Good Riddance

If I died right now, 
say, by being run over 
or poisoned or stabbed 
or something, 
would you mourn for me 
if and when you eventually found out? 

Or would you mentally scream 
"good riddance" like everyone else would?

Grey Area

The world is not cut
in two equal halves
and neither is it
halved in black in white.

Never so strongly
do I feel that than now,
neither happy nor sad,
but in the grey area in between.

Think me not as overjoyed,
and neither am I deeply morose,
think of me as more unsure,
and torn and conflicted.

Like I've been hit
with a wave of static,
the charge enough to upset,
but not enough to last.

Collide And Diminish

The room transforms,
yet it remains the same as ever.

Where there had once been
several warm bodies,
there is now nothing
but time and space,
on the verge of freezing.

Space becomes nonexistent,
and time becomes but
something out of a dream.

But how could it exist in dreams,
for right now, I dream
my greatest and most cherished dream.

Further collision,
and further diminishing
of the concept of space itself.

Space exists not between us.

For we merge.

We are one.

We are whole.

We are here.

Break The Ice

Friendship is much
like water.

When people say
"break the ice,"
it implies separation.
You and the other,
submerged in waters,
and separated only
by a layer of ice.

Though what people neglect to say,
is that you can also create more ice,
create more separation.
Turn one layer
into a completely frozen channel.

By then, "breaking the ice"
is but a means
to turn it all into vapor,
nothing more than invisible water.

Worth Less

Look through the lens
and see what I see.
An idiot, a peasant,
a queen,
a sentimental fool,
and a complete asshole.

Feeling worthless,
feeling like you're worth less
than the penny you have
clutched in dirty,
hypocritical,
narcissistic,
and overbearing hands.

The feeling has won.

It won the moment it showed up.

Think not of me as wanting
pity, attention, or something
so petty.

Think of me as wanting
another soul to spill to,
another channel to flow through.

Though of course,
I myself was the only option.

Broken

Shattered like a mirror,
and crushed like a rose,
you are.

Broken into pieces and
scattered around,
for everyone to see.

But, when I touch you,
I am pricked,
and I am cut.

I try so desperately
to pick up the pieces,
that I am left breaking myself.

Once Strong Men Were We

The Western Front,
unable to advance,
was instead left to defend
and slowly ravage France.

But in the trenches,
our own battle were being fought.
A vicious malice that
Nature herself had wrought.

When the sound of bullets
didn't pierce the air,
it was rent with cries of pain,
as if they had pulled out all of their hair.

Once strong men,
who thought they'd be back
come Christmas,
are still under the same sky black.

Once strong men, reduced to tears,
plagued by Trench Foot and disease,
suffering as much as they did in battle,
unable to be at ease.

Once strong men
were we.
Now, here we stand, half-dead,
in the fight to be free.

Changing, Going Away

Wash away my shame,
with this gentle rain.
Wash away the pain,
from the winter that came.

Gently caress me,
with these tears from the sky,
flowing in memory
of days gone by.

In the gloom of the gray day,
the rain reflects off the asphalt,
glowing like a sunny May,
or like artist's cobalt.

This gentle downpour
soothes my fears,
and quells my anxieties.
It is much like shedding tears.

Soft rain,
won't you stay?
Though I know,
you must go away.

I look forward again
to when we meet,
for I know that
the next time will be sweet.

Damage

If you could look back
at the damage you've done,
could you, would you,
have dropped the gun?

Turn back around
and walk away,
in between raindrops
that have been falling all day.

Flash a broken smile,
not a bullet to my head,
to make me see tears,
instead of a sea of red.

Thunder

Baby eyes, stare into mine,
innocence and wonder,
you'll find under those browns
that yearn to show the world
their thunder.

How I smile inside, six inches wide,
but behind it is sorrow,
for her brow will turn furrowed,
for she will understand and witness pain,
but thankfully, not until tomorrow.

Fountain

There again was the familiar sound
of rushing water,
pouring from concrete figures,
and cascading down
into a wide basin that has seen better days
in the hands of more delicate and careful
denizens and fortune-seekers.

There again was the glint
of dulled copper, silver and
sometimes, gold that shone through
the choppy, leaf-and-dust-strewn surface,
signaling the thousands and thousands of souls
that have given up these coins,
not for a wish to be granted,
but to be given hope in things
mundane or morbid.

As kids, we used to say
that we would avoid
wasting away our lives
in front of this fountain,
in the hope that we wouldn't
need to wish for anything.
That we'd have everything
we ever aspired to achieve.

Look at where we are now.

I'm here, alone,
broke as hell,
and you're off a thousand miles away,
probably in the same situation.

Sacrificing coins to gain
an intangible something
that will fill the void
and make you feel
whole and good again.

Morning Lilt

You kiss me softly while
I gently caress your shoulder
to the lilt of the stereo,
set against a backdrop
of a quiet, Sunday morning.

Dust, filtered in morning sunshine,
wafting in the warm air,
and then,
into the spaces between our fingers,
until we clasp them
together tightly.

Your fingers,
interlocking with mine,
an ill-fitting puzzle.

But what more could I ask for?

Nothing that could be better
than this morning
full of stereo, dust and sunshine.

The Silence of Snowfall

A blanket of white
I see all around,
is the snow that covers
every square inch of ground.

And on the trees,
Nature placed upon their heads,
a white crown,
majestic, compared to Man's naked brow.

And out of my mouth,
steam billows,
showing signs of life,
against the frosty winter knife.

I Am

I am the ill-fitting puzzle piece,
I am the red in a sea of beige,
I am the clash note sung
in a different key.

Still

I am silent.

You batter me,
beat me until my breaking point.

Every fibre of my being
screams at me to scream at you,
to retaliate, to fight back.

Still,
I do notihing but take it.

I am silent.

Drizzle

My left arm aches,
but the pain in my back aches more,
first from the knife you took,
and then the gaping wound it left behind.

Suddenly, misery turns to resent,
from drizzle to heavy thunderstorm,
rain pounding without relent,
and through it all,

I'm a fucking mess.

Suppression

At 17, this shouldn't be any trouble,
something so petulant and childish.
Never should I acknowledge it
with this much hurt.

Still, a wave of sadness crashes,
and paranoia sets in,
"It's sure to go downhill,
"from here on out."

Subconcious suppression. It cannot
be undone now,
conceal it, don't feel it,
nobody needs to know.

Being Human

I am but a fool,
a being strung together
by mistakes, one after the other.

I am but a child,
an idiot woven together
by fears and petulant bothers.

I am but a human,
a creature knitted together
by faults and imaginary tethers.