Eyes of White Elm

Eyes of white elm 

 and marks in black charcoal. 

Her tanned and taut skin, 

 a silver screen marvel.

-

The strength that I thought 

would always persist 

had lost too much hope 

for will to exist.

So when she had offered 

it troubled me so 

that loneliness spoke 

and didn't say no.

-

We butchered the night 

with blades of our silence. 

dysfunction washed filth 

with emotional violence.

And when it was over 

I packed up and flew 

for all we had done 

at once came to view.

-

Eyes of white elm, 

and nothing to trust. 

our bodies abused, 

addicted to lust.

Childhood is the Kingdom of Immortality

They once ruled this body, this mind
the monarchs of immortal kind

They were once the morning dew,
the early birds on days anew

Mettled through ambition's fire,
they sank to earth to toil and tire

By lustful pulls from wealthy forces
they sold their kingdoms for their courses

and learned how they ought sow their seeds
to sate their higher order needs

then millions left their dreaming realms
to wake up next to spears and helms

a kingdom's weight in gold is free
when freedom takes eternity.

It wasn't long ago that humans still longed for adventure. Back then, your endeavours were the most important parts of your life. Your stories became your identity; your mark on time itself.

That's why little trinkets like these are priceless. They're more than just some ornate, nostalgic relics from our past. Each one was at one time a beacon in someone's journey. An enchanted artifact that already knew the time and place of your story's fulfillment. The universe would whisper secrets into the tiniest depths of its workings, and it danced to the rhythm of these truths.

It seems that nowadays these sorts of guides have fallen to antiquity. There are no more questions the electron cannot answer. No more truths to uncover or stories to tell. No more secrets of the universe for these metal spirits to dance to. Journeys have been reduced to weekend getaways where we gaze deeply into our own selves and never find what it is that we're trying to look for.

Now, gaze into this, and look for its questions, not its answers. For its secrets and not its facts. Let it show you the beginning of your adventure, and do not concern yourself with its end. Most often, what you've been looking for is the whole of it.

"Fifteen minutes. Can you do it?"

He mumbled to me, as he slid over a shot of whiskey.

I checked the clock and downed the shot as the minute hand swung past 9.

"I guess we'll find out"

I was wearing a conservative black dress that day. He said discretion was always loudest at the train station, so it would not do. And he was right. No one was dressed for comfort, and everyone made noise. I could barely hear myself over the bustling caravan of commuters and their loud-as-gunshot shoes.

I came to the clearing and waited for a call on the phone he gave me, just as he'd told me to do. The clock hit 10, and still no ring. I contemplated walking back. But no, that would be too dangerous. I had to stay and wait. Finally, it rang.

"Hello"

A strange voice said, "Listen to me, this is very important. Your life depends upon it. The package is at the front desk of the building directly behind you. Tell them it's for your boyfriend. You have 9 minutes. Hurry"

"What package? who is-"

It went to dial tone before I could finish.

I turned around and began to walk quickly. I was afraid that i was being led into a trap, but i trusted what he said, and ran to the next building.

I bursted into the building with the look of urgency, begging them for the package. Then I realized why everyone was gawking at me. The building was a post office. 

When I got back to the pub, my boyfriend was laughing with the bartender.

"This funny to you?", I tried to say with a straight face.

"Oh, you have no idea."

"I hope this package was worth this silly game of yours"

He struggled to stop laughing.

"Oh lighten up. You keep telling me you want to feel like you're doing something important, so I thought I'd give it to you. It's your fifteen minutes of fame"
"I was hoping my fifteen minutes would turn out to have a little less running than that. What's in this package anyway?"

"Well, Open it up"

Still frazzled, I opened it up and found a ring box. 

Beauty makes you Fragile

"I am whole", so says the part
"for I alone have end and start."

And all of them so scattered in static
cling to their indivisible selves
like your smile in my rearview mirror.

You found my wholeness in the ocean of my parts.
I swam toward your beauty and you froze me in time,

But over time, you became brittle.
The cracks in us were widening

Until you broke loose and broke our hearts
and my self was once again scattered parts.

And in the end, I finally see.
If not for you, I'd still be me.

Beauty is a Fragile Gift

What is beautiful is vulnerable.
The beauty of vulnerability grants protection.

What is beautiful beckons with a silent boast,

Is loud in a graceful way.

It isn't like Beauty to be one with the whole. 

She knows that her truest form is in her scarcity. 

Her brilliance where brilliance cannot be found.

And she remembers when she was invisible, undetectable, underground.

She remembers the time it took for her confidence to grow,

The busybodies who took a glance, and didn't cut her down.

It is the very shell she used to hide in that feeds her spirit everyday.

What is beautiful knows when it's time to bloom.

It's been six years since I last set foot here. Five since I've missed it. It's hard to remember sometimes, what your hands felt like. The ripples of time start to bleed together after a while. I can't quite remember which alternate universe it was where things turned out okay.

But I do know that everything seems so much further now. Each stride is heavier, each goal is more difficult to reach. So before I leave this place for the last time, I need you to understand something.

I hate you.