Deep in my mind, memories get stored.
My brain is a steel trap that opens
and closes. It’s impossible not to
remember a burning fire and how
it came from an ember. My mind
is a bank that will never be blank.
Blank checks and recurring thoughts
do not need to be bought. My mind
does not idle. Boredom often rivals
constant brain activity. It’s on file.
Memories deposited take refuge
in the deep depths where thoughts
of life and death intersect. Accounts
of my life stay full as good moments
fill my soul. Overdraft fees bring me
to my knees and memories do as
they please. My memory bank fills
up like a cup that never spills.
You don’t have to be literate
to read the room. You don’t
have to know how to sweep
to use a broom. You don’t
need feet to own shoes.
Rooms are like books on
a shelf. People are like words
on a page. Sometimes, it takes
awhile for some to open up.
Each person has their own
definition of life. Views
and perspectives differ.
Beauty is in the eye of
the beholder. Lessons
are learned and days
grow shorter as we get
older. You don’t need
a folder to read the room.
Open your eyes and look
around. Take it all in
as you read the room.
From womb to the tomb,
leave no room for regret.
Read the room and learn
how fires burn. Read
each person’s face. Learn
just how the world turns.
Whatever you decide to do,
know that it is better to
read the room than to
leave the room. Look.
We can all be open books.
Some are built to destroy,
to employ their evil onto
others. The good balances
out the bad. The happy
balances out the sad,
yet some are still mad.
Some are built to destroy
what others have built.
Some help fix problems
that others love to create.
The love balances out
the hate. There is death,
decay, and destruction
surrounding us. At any
moment, we can become
a part of the rubble, even
if we weren’t looking for
for the trouble. Bruised,
battered, and broken, I
look to salvage all that
I can before I kick the can.
I look to those built to
destroy and shake my head.
All that can be said is
“Don’t ruin a chance for
others to make their bed.”
It’s been raining for 26 years straight.
I haven’t gotten tan since my life began.
Soaking wet, I had to learn to stay afloat.
I even built myself a boat. In my life,
I have seen friends, family, and strangers
encounter dangers only few understand.
I have seen some sink to the very bottom.
I never liked swimming, but it’s what I had
to do to keep living. I learned not to be
afraid to swim around before I sink down.
Some days, I’ll dive down to see buried
memories and under-water trees. The rain
never goes away as nature does its thing.
I am drenched, cold, and tired as I paddle
in place, creating ripples in time and space.
The water will rise higher, so I practice
holding my breath. I inhale first. I hope
for the best and prepare for the worst:
no air. I am under water, over my head,
but I am still alive, just extremely wet.
Haunted by voices, the only child sees
shadows pass by. When he closes
his eyes, he can still see the demons
haunting him. Noise fills the still air.
Haunted by those who won’t leave,
he stays up all night. One night,
the only child hears his name being called.
Afraid and awake, he walks toward
the voice calling his name. He gets
close enough to see a ballpoint pen
lodged between a blank journal.
The only child picks up the pen, filling
up the blank pages. He writes, “I’m not
real” over and over. The voices stop,
and the shadows disappear. The only
child closes the journal, then the curtains
are thrown open. The shining light
illuminates his transparent face.
The light shines right through.
Surrounded by life, the only child sees
his future then jumps into the past. It felt
so real for him. He almost forgot, he was
a lurking shadow, once alive and well.
The only child visits the blank journal
now and again to encounter memories
once made, remembered, and forgot.