Category: Poetry

One day
the stars will swallow the world,
and on that day, I will be sitting here,
by this tree, waiting for you
to come and sit
and watch time crumble with me.

One day
the parchment of past and present will tear,
and on that day, I will be holding my pen,
waiting to write my last regards
before the binding melts
and the book shuts forever.

One day
the dirt beneath our feet won’t be enough
to keep us from plummeting into tunnels of space,
and on that day, I will close my eyes,
and dream of fluffing my feathers
and flying through infinity.

One day
the stars will swallow the world,
and on that day, I will be sitting here,
beneath this tree, clinging to pieces
of what could’ve been
if the world went on spinning.

Beyond the void there is
a door, murky and menacing
against a wall of thorns,
and choked in vines
that whisper
my name.

I know I must reach
that door, for beyond it lies
the answer, I think-
but the way is vast
and dripped in smog,
and the bridge rots
in ruins at my feet.

The end lies dead,
and I’m stranded on this side,
clinging to brambles and scraps
of the past that reek
of desolation.
The door, swirling in stilted light,
mocks me from afar,
singing a song that
can never be reprised.

They left me folded in sheets
of sand- wrapped in molding bandages
on the bed of the shore, with the surf
licking my frozen toes.
The gull who weeps for his friends
long dead is much like me- a nomad
with no name and no clan;
a roamer rejected by rose-ravished
words. Here I waste away,
repeatedly bitten by the wind’s sharpened
teeth- left to rot.