The Poetry Marathon

I used to run these halls naked as a baby, as my mom chased me with a towel

I used to force my dad into tea parties, pretending to sound fancy through vowels

I used to sleep on my bed, sweet dreams almost every night

I used to live in a home before it turned red and then white

It’s been years, I live in a home of new

It’s been years yet I still go back to where my nightmares grew

For the home is now a house of old

A burned thing where my childhood was told

That night went it burst to flames

And I sit by the construction of a bought memory, remembering my silly games

For this house was a home full of stone set names

Lies are hated

Lies are said by many

Yet, lies help one stay sated

Once they open the pages of plenty

It sounds odd

For what pages could be happy lies?

A writer, unless killing a favorite, can’t be a liar flawed

But we make up names and laugh at the characters’ cries

We lie about trust in the midst of a betrayal

We lie about love when it’s unreal

Writers are liars through their portrayal

It’s funny, but when we first write in ink, it’s signed a liar’s deal

My mom hung my clothes in the box by the wall of my room

It carried my outfits for outings or school days

It’s where my favorite spot for hide and seek came into bloom

And grew when Woody made a dramatic entrance to his friends in his museum phase

It just held clothes, something so normal

Yet, in a child’s mind, it held enchanting memories

A closet carries your style of crazy, hippie, bright, dark, or formal

It carries the hats, the scarves, the imagination-helping accessories

A Narnia it has become when you first hid in the embrace of your clothes

And for some, a comforting escape where the outside world froze

A soul among the people

An existence of one in billions

A lone one by the streets, in the parks, or perhaps a steeple

Not entirely acknowledged from the seen by millions

One, a single soul

Ordinary, living day by day

They have their dreams, thoughts, and specific goal

And they don’t realize how much they compare to the sun’s ray

A single soul, extraordinarily being

They don’t believe so, unfortunately

Yet here the world is, their little accomplishments it’s seeing

The people have been harsh lately

But it’s okay

Because one day

This single soul will see that they’re extraordinary

In a world of ordinary

What is love if not unconditional?

What is love if not unbelievable?

What does it mean to offer your heart, to the other additional?

What does it mean when love is conceivable?

Is it a ring of gold or diamond to express the gem in the rough?

Is it a chain built through lies and disbelieving truths?

Is the care of heart a bound to cuffs?

Or is it a bound of everlasting, reaching to the youths?

What is love if not unconditional?

What is hate if not unbelievable?

Whether it may be casual or traditional

Whether it is easy of hard to be achievable

What is love if not from a heart irretrievable?

A tremor goes through me as I stare at you

Your smile is charming under the lightbulb hue

Your jacket embraces me and I hold it close by the hem

My elbows bury under the sleeves, finding warmth in them

And it smells like cinnamon, your favorite dessert

One you cannot eat anymore as I stare at your painting while you lay under the dirt

Maybe it’s the darkness that embraces me from behind

Maybe it’s the warmth before me that’s so bright I could go blind

It’s a curious flame, a spark that ignites wonder

As I hold my own light at hand, I ponder

The fire one, the lantern another

Both embraced by roots, yet compared to the other

One burns at the first touch, the other encased

One’s darkness and embrace of nature, the other a creature post haste

One a burning desire, the other an idea

It may be strange to think, under a star-filled sky

It may be an odd comparison, curious thoughts in my mind going by

But the light is strong and long lasting

A wondering mind has no trouble casting

The will of the flame I hold in my hand

The will of the fire placed on land

The questions stop as I stare at them and lay down on the warmth of the sand

A rusted memory of a childhood laugh

A rusted board that held a child high

A field so vast, flowers barely grown half

A field that carries yet carries the bright innocence cry

Now old and brown, it stands empty

The breeze, the only melody heard

For maybe years passed a ten or twenty

Awaiting a laugh from third

Until then, the sunflowers shall shield it’s innocent memory

Standing guard of the distant laugh from what felt like a century

Flowers of yellow, purple, and white

A sky of clouds, a silver of cool wind

The sun shone behind, peak height

Though clouded, it cast it’s warmth

Truly a moment worth capturing

A view so beautiful, a picture-perfect meadow

A nature-filled escape from suffering

But with a camera ready to snap, we know

Those lush fields, the blanket clouds

The hiding sun, the escape from crowds

This vast paradise blooming beautifully on this planet

One can hope it stays alive under the hands that plant it

Case file open, ready for solve

Apartment door unlocked

A mystery to resolve

Empty room, wheelchair middle

A shrine of color sitting atop

A confusing riddle

The sun may have been shining through that window this morning

Until one let out a scream

And as we stood mourning,

Case file closed, a haunting sunshine through our dream

For said shrine was not but a grave

Ready to be planted and engraved