When I write, I give it like blood all my emotions like DNA unique to me only it can be shared with others it passes through to the world I’ll never know if it lives on a day a week a month a year …forever but I won’t stop bleeding my words I’ll still give away my life for longer life for my story
Actual Trestle Bridge from Google – no copyright infringement intended
no idea where I was going where my footsteps were taking me not long off the bus and my bags still hanging off the borrowed bed I’m running toward something my faith in a girl next door relationship built on the stock of only a few summers we were school break friends and I just had to see this according to everyone and everyone was going to be there that was the promise and with a pinky swear I was a nervous boy in a foreign land on loan from thirteen-year-old best buds speaking only the language of the shy and quiet ones making what would become a beautiful memory under the bright big moon along the sparkle-kissed river surrounded by the sounds of the teenage on a warm night in August by the trestle bridge
today, the air was different I paid attention to the seabirds watched the tide go all the way out to my left, a boat hummed away from the harbour to my right, lost sheep chew green grass into yellow a car passes by and the people wave while Jack the black cat sits still on a picket fence and Patti, the old neighbour strokes the last drop of paint …against his saltbox home I am shaken by something I can’t understand an algorithm of existing in a moment of my life seeing clear because that life stopped me in my tracks pushed my breath straight to my lungs grew my heart for the love of living filled me with the longing for more I know now that there is something more to every day my heart was smothered and my soul blinded until my spirit had enough and awakened
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Another ten paces and I fall again to my knees the truth too unbearable like the scorch of the sun, it will burn hot no running will get you further away from it no amount of water could ever cleanse no sound can drown the songs of deceit when devils are allowed to dance all around you their voices are soft, tempting, and following their gestures a play before only my eye pull me and push me…my story, my actions, my ending I’m in a trance and see the world beyond this painful pane fraternizing with demons and laying proud in the shadows but the promises I have received still lure me so for now I will bed the malevolent and risk the glass being broken
Lying awake in the dares of the night between the seconds of darkness that it created anxious, with a pulsing heart a sweaty grip gripping tightly so wishing for light I watch the shadows and silhouettes patrol alone by vicinity crowded by bonded blood the air steals my voice blankets smother my breath sounds muffle the familiar it’s only me now in a world of living nightmares it was always only me this life is a puzzle with many different pieces let me throw away the black ones so something beautiful can be complete
You are a flower a flower long picked from the garden home with just today as a reminder of when you began to grow seasons pass and nothing else seems to want to flourish anymore your bloom was what kept these old roots alive now, the rain never comes backs the sun only hurts the moon listens, but that’s all the wind is gone before I know it not one thing about life is life in this garden home without a little flower
In the night like a ghost nothing is ever seen premeditation a superpower skewing the real, while dancing with the devil visiting worlds very far apart the sky in one, a sky the other could be anywhere envisioned on the spot in the sweat, in the sins, in the climax flying close to the sun is a high like no other a racing heart is a drug buried deep in the same shadows but one beam of light and it all goes away the curtain comes down no more beautiful horizon no more escape
One Saturday an old used-up weekend in my life back when I was a small boy who took shortcuts home I remember that Saturday and how golden was the hillside how the fences cast shadows through blades of long grass while it danced when the wind played the lead along the way I ducked clotheslines with flapping white blankets and wool socks that made dogs bark for no reason almost home I stopped to take a drink from a cold stream with those floaty things a puttering engine in the distance pulled me up for a look when I do I see a fishing boat breaking the glass harbour I become lost in the triangle wake of that trail the vessel leads behind as its crew steams toward their living into the greying eve while seagulls give chase for little company it stretches a few seconds for me for some reason captivates me, holds my breath, takes grip of my soul until the lighthouse steals away the attention enough to break my trance in time to hear the voice of my grandmother who sings my name through the hills beckons my return from the adventures of my childhood it won’t be long now, just cross the torn bush garden and the triangle stone like I remember…one Saturday