Further Still

Further Still

Waves quietly lapped against the moonlit shore. Several small lights glowed on the coast. Most of the shops were closed, save for a few cafes, orange light spilling out onto the sidewalk. And except for the people sat in these shops, chatting in the glow, the town slept.

Off in the distance a small yacht rocked, shining silver from the moon. A great man sat with a tumbler, the golden liquid gently tipping with the ship. He wondered where else he could go as he stared into the stars.

Further still was a great ship, almost invisible from the shore. Alone in the ocean, and yet no one on it was lonely. Lights hung on ropes, bathing the massive deck with the light. And on the deck danced lovers. So far away, and yet so near.

Near to others, far from the world.

2011

Consolation Prize

Consolation Prize

“Dad?"

“Yes?” replied the man, laying the book on the bed.

“What happens we die?”

Several thoughts crossed the man’s head. He was surprised.

“When we die, we’ll go to a place. The good people, the bad people. And everyone will be happy, and the night will never fall. I’ll be there, you’ll be there. Everyone you’ve ever loved or cared for will be there. There will never be silence, and yet it will always be quiet. And we’ll live together, you and me. We’ll always be together, here and there.”

“Will mom be there?”

A tear welled in the corner of the man’s dark eye.

“Mom will be there. Of course. Mom will be there.”

The boy’s eyes shut, a content smile on his innocent face. The caress of night had already reached him.

Taking the book, the man silently stood up. As he walked out of the room, he saw with clarity a beautiful woman, forever young, bathed in never-ending sunlight. A smile crossed his hardened face.

June 27, 2011

Playground Ends Here

Playground Ends Here

Traded cards in the afternoon air,

You held your head high above.

You had the best cards in the yard.

They complained your trades weren’t fair.

Traded notes among the class.

She’d blush as she wrote away,

You smiled inside with victory.

Jealousy called you an ass.

Traded words by the windowsill,

Rocks that nearly break the glass

Words of somewhat hushed fear

In the dark of the night still.

Summer 2011

Lighthouse

Lighthouse

The sea is hushed,

The sky is black.

The air is silent, like a

Widow, two weeks in.

Window lights fade out of sin.

The day is old. The Moon’s tipped grin

Is casting white waves still,

Like frozen rivers somewhere there.

A rotating lens flare

Breaks the silent airwave snare

But then again it turns around

And I am left to breath still air.

July 2011

Tempus Fugit

Tempus Fugit

I open a book of mirrors.

Sometimes I stare at myself, others my eyes are fixed on an unknown point. Each looking-glass tells a story. There are no lies, no false hope. There is only me.

I wander aimlessly through mirrors of time. Reflections of something that once was. All the while I am in a cage. Why am I in a cage? Some mirrors crack at the edges. I can see nothing beyond them.

My fingers rest on the glass. I see myself in a field. A field of golden sunflowers swaying in the wind of a late summer’s day. I’m so young, so simple. I’m holding something out. What is it? The glass is too distorted. I’m holding something out in my two outstretched hands. I can’t see it, but I know what it is. It is my innocence. I hand myself my innocence. I’m so young, so simple. I want it. I want days of laughter. I want days in fields of swaying sunflowers.

I reach out to take it. The glass shatters as my skin touches the dying reflection. It falls apart, pieces of sunflowers falling at my feet. It all cracks and shatters, and I can see the bars of my cage. The cage I built. And beyond the bars lies nothing.

A side of my cage falls open. I step out.

Summer 2011

This was my first attempt at a 'stream of consciousness' work. It was written at 2 AM in the morning.