The Poetry Marathon

The dark waters rose.

I had to slip into them.

I held my breath.

Here

There

Nowhere

I am nowhere else but inside myself.

It cannot be be otherwise.

You see, there is a distinct lack

Of anywhere anyone could be.

What would they say,

Those from the coffin ship days,

To know that we hurtled through one night,

Eight miles above the ocean,

And came back to Ireland

After leaving her?

Touchdown

This is Ireland

Again

I am in no shape to greet her

I think she knows me well by now,

And knows I need a moment alone.

The eyes need rest

From seeing.

The mind from thinking.

I want to fall into the mist of nothing.

Whoosh.

What is the sound of this buffering mist?

The hands of the clock spin wildly.

I have nothing to say anymore.

I am tired of this voice.

If I have to have one at all,

Let it be new.

We’re never feeling nothing.

Couldn’t we find the gem

In any and all inner conditions

If we bothered to look?

To anyone who reads this:

What would you understand of me?

Eternally tortured?

I hope not, for I know secrets

That would ensure joy.

But I move through subterranean levels,

That I might leave no stone–

No stone at all–

Unturned.

Change the channel.

Stop watching this.

Stop watching to see how bad it gets.

Just change the channel.

Change the world.

Change yourself.

You’re the whole wide world.

Did you forget?

I felt it, a little while back–

That a part of me is hiding

Beneath everything that isn’t fun,

Like a child in a tent of blankets,

Smiling, laughing,

And wondering,

Will you find me?