Six Heroes

Where do they belong?
The feeling and the song
Among the folks who tell themselves that feeling things is wrong
Among the ones who hide their passions, no matter how strong
Put their silence all together and unmute the waiting throng

What am I to say?
To indefinite delay
Of facts and thoughts and inklings that might never have their day
Of chances first forgotten before taken all the way
I can scarcely part my lips before the words are swept away

Why is this our lot?
This hesitance we've got
Where men and women, boys and girls all let their ideas rot
Where anyone who's got a dream will tremble at the thought
And feign the passing of their mind in hopes they won't get caught

How could I relate?
The promise of my fate
To a world that has forgotten that there's anything that's great
To friends and enemies who both scrape the same damned plate
So I'm waiting for my turn, though I know it comes too late

When will someone hear?
The words I'm making clear
That keep me up at night till I can make them reach your ear
That boil up inside me, increasing every year
These words will give me everything; everything but fear

And last I will ask, Who?
Will make their dreams come true
In a place where it is understood; these things aren't up to you
In every way, they'll have to crush perspectives old and new
But their stars will light the night when such heroes are so few

Sacrificial Love pt. 1

Give me your friendship

Sacrifice time

Search all my poems

Read every line

Think of me often

Over yourself

Kind words will soften

When days turn to hell

Turn over money

In gifts for my sake

Tell me I'm funny

Spare me heartache

Twist up your gut

At judgmental thoughts

Honesty, cut

Before you get caught

I'm not asking this

Expect it, I will

You'll clench up your fist

And start to feel ill

But that's just to bad

See, love is a gift

And once its been had

It turns back to filth

Kill unto Life

Slink and slack, tumbling traveler

Rolling and running down tangled path

Angles and math cautiously guide curves

Destinations, points, beginnings and ends

All plotted and planned through winnings and friends

Birds sing because you expect them to

Desert night greets lizards too

All is in place and all makes great sense

ROCKS FALL FROM SKY

ROCKS CRUSH THE MAN'S HEAD

ROCKS FALL FROM ABOVE

ROCKS BEAT AND BLEED THE MAN

Fore and back, the bumbling traveler

Rolling and running an ugly blood bath

Puddles of it form a tide that serves

To feed the red-eyed fish who split their fins

All blotted and spanned by sickness and lack

Birds pick the flesh because we beg them not to

Arctic morning hides monsters too

All is in disarray and confounds the wise

Look

Look at me.

That's all I'm really asking;

Just to see your eyes lock

With mine

I lose breath

I'll dream about you later and wake up without regret

One day or two or a thousand years, I'll see you once more

Look at me.

We've let each other in on our little secret

I'm trusting that

You're true

Our fingers touch and it's like a blinding light

My eyes adjust to see yours looking back, smiling

Look at me.

Don't you know that it's the eyes that put the love in love-making?

When we're here

Like this

Separate from the world and naked to each other

Don't you know what it means to warm ourselves in each other's soul fire?

Look at me.

I want to feel your words inside me like a shot of rum

When you promise

I have hope

That the world is full of imbeciles and ignorants

Let them kill themselves with words and the wisdom of man

Look at me.

I want to understand your confusion and ease your pain

Something's wrong

With this house

Let me clear your windows and draw back your blinds

So you can see the colors of the world and the brilliance of our love

Look at me.

When did we need to ponder the question of “enough”?

What has changed

Or been revealed?

Can a scene so lovely be but a mirage in the dessert?

As the crow flies, my home is caught by the wind

Look at me.

A word so spoken must be delivered by your eyes

Not a glance

So cold

Birds fly instinctive paths, but I am blessed with logic

Reason, like peace, is stolen by the denial of your eyes

COLOR TEST

TESTINGNOTICEBROADCASTASDREAMCOMMENCETHOUGHTSTREAM

Like the unnerved finger-tapping of a death row inmate, drops of water fell against the window. Gilbert wrestled with his bedsheets to find a position that might let him get to sleep—as if to solve the real problem, he should avoid it. Nature's faint noises had become blaring sirens calling him to wakefulness; the manor bell rang three times. Consciousness mounted his sorrows and drove him to pull on his eyebrow; a nervous twitch. Eyes wide open, he practiced his ritual... once, twice, three times. At the moment of his third pull, he heard a voice. It was smooth and clear and it made his body straightened and tense.

“Gilbert, face me.” the voice urged. Eyes clamped shut, Gilbert attempted to ignore the impossible voice, or at least hope to wake up.

“You will face me.” the voice said, and suddenly Gilbert was involuntarily moving to an upright sitting position and viewing the being who interrupted his sleeplessness with fear. What he saw before him appeared to be the product of a haunted looking glass. Instantly, he recognized himself in the figure, though the being's eyes were hollow and its skin glowed like a low-burning candle.

Gilbert had many questions, the first of which being, “Who are you?”

“I am you.” said the being, “And I have come to rescue you.”

“You can't be me...” Gilbert replied, “I'm me.”

“Hahaha! I appreciate your sense of identity.” the being paused for a moment, then said dryly, “I am the ghost of Christmas past and I am here on a mission from Santa Claus.”

Gilbert was speechless. Humor held little meaning to him at this point.

The being sighed, and then went on, “You might find my appearance, and even my very existence explicable only as 'supernatural'. In fact, I'd wager that there are two possible ways that you're taking this right now. One, you think this is a dream. Two; I must be some kind of 'supernatural' being. Perhaps you haven't exactly decided, but I'm confident you're weighing those two possibilities.”

Gilbert nodded silently.

The being continued, “Nothing to add, I suppose?” it paused, “Right, well let me at least explain one thing about my existence. If you were thinking that I am merely a dream, you'd be partially correct in that dreams actually exist. The idea of my being a 'supernatural' being is absurd because of the term itself. 'Supernatural'. What meaning does a word like this have? In its simplest sense, it describes something that is not part of the natural order. What the 'natural order' constitutes is oft debated by philosophers, theologians and armchair thinkers the world over, but what is usually placed within this concept is all existence. So the supernatural, as you call it, is that which is outside of existence, therefore that which does not practically exist. What further irks me about this term is the prefix. Why are things and concepts that do not exist—these supernatural concepts—thought of as superior or higher than all of us schmucks and our ideas who and which actually exist? Our concepts of God and Devil, Heaven and Hell—what can they do? These are not concepts which make the leap from mind to matter. They are not blueprints or plans, but mere fancy! They are, in this way, not supernatural, but subnatural. To get to the point, I am unlike a subnatural concept in that I do exist, though the nature of my existence need not burden you this morning.”

“What do you expect from me?” Gilbert asked.

“You are coming with me.” The being replied.

“Do I have a choice?”

The being was silent at first, but for the first time looked directly into Gilbert's eyes. “You've had a choice your whole life but have refused to exercise it. If you perceived time in the way that I do, you would have made your choice already, and in a way you have...” the being seemed to seethe with anger, “You have proven that options must be shown to you before you can choose between them. That's what I am here to do.”

“Where are you taking me?” Gilbert became resolute.

The being was quick to respond, “To your beginning.”

BROADCASTCOMPLETEENDDREAMWAKEUP

Baker's Extreme Fun Ball; A Tale of Desire

He had to have it. It was that simple. Never before, while sitting aimlessly in front of the television did Gilbert see something that he wanted so much. What was it? It was a ball, simply put. To complicate and clarify, it was a Baker's Extreme Fun Ball. There was, quite frankly, nothing else like it. Sure, there's Cathy's Big Ball and Lloydcorp's Grandiosphere, but there was no system of measurement that would possibly compare these inferior products favorably against Baker's Extreme Fun Ball. Gilbert drooled lustfully as the commercial came to a swift conclusion. He decided that he would do whatever it took to acquire this product. However, before he made plans for said acquisition, he decided to contemplate his desire for a while. No doubt, he imagined, such contemplation would make acquisition all the more satisfying. He thought about what he loved most about Baker's Extreme Fun Ball. The color... yes, the color! The BEFB was multicolored! Gilbert always paused and mulled when people asked him what his favorite color was. He never could really decide. This ball was all colors, and illuminated so that you could see them—even in the dark. What else? The 100% roundness guarantee. That's right. Graham Baker Inc. guarantees that every Baker's Extreme Fun Ball will be 100% round, NO EXCEPTIONS. This would provide Gilbert with a sense of security. Is there anything else? Of course there is! The scented surface, the high bounce factor, the catchability rate, and all research done to create the BEFB was animal-friendly. Yes, this was the perfect product. Gilbert knew it and he hadn't even seen it in person. Gilbert looked at the clock—8pm—perhaps he would procure for himself the Baker's Extreme Fun Ball another day.