Lost in the Forest
Corsage curated for your chest,
I am wearing emerald
to match your eyes as we go
in the forest for a walk.
I point to the river flowing away
and I tell you about the philosophy
of time and how the universe is
always growing outwards.
You’re already bored of my stupid voice,
you pick a daisy off the ground next
to a fallen trunk, you hold it to my face
and tell me to appreciate its beauty.
I tuck the daisy in your black hair,
I hold your hand and give it a kiss,
then look away to hold back tears for
how unfair everything becomes.
Volition
So long as you don’t understand
what retrospective means,
sitting on the shore
is a meditation on cleansing
the self if only you are brave
enough to let go.
Living retrospectively
is the ontology of a man with little to no future.
When the days feel too long
and the years pass by in a heartbeat,
that is your cue that you are way past due.
Taking a stroll in the same old meadow
just past the half-broken backyard fence
is a rumination about volition,
like when you raise your hand to volunteer,
like when you take off your shoes filled to the brim with sand,
like when you break your wall of shame and swim in the lake fully naked,
like when you feel as if the days are too short and the years are unfathomably long,
like when you are a child and the whole world is kneeling before you.
Where did it go, all those day-packed years?
I choose to be
in pain since
it’s the only proof I have
for being
alive
in the present.
I pray to all
the non-existent Gods that I don’t believe in
for some courage.
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