The Poetry Marathon

You must
care
to heal.

I can’t save, only harm.
I am Destruction.
I have two paths,
inward or out.
I cannot control the Chaos.
There is no right.
No wrong.
Only what is left in ruin.
Whosever remains
standing once the battle
is over is victorious.
What the price
or worth
of that victory
must be decided.
Only the same sadness
of loss and losses to come.
There is no end of it,
only the slow
pull to the grave
of an individual.
Cities of the dead,
in every town.
If I am the one to die first,
I have no requests.
Save to keep smiling
and to keep my words
in your heart
as a memento
of what you’re worth.
And, please, know you loved
my hate.
My broken,
my shell.
You loved me anyway.
And I will always hold
that memory with me
and very dear.
But I wish to depart.
Start a new journey, elsewhere.
I will never get “better”,
because I am fine.
There is nothing wrong with me.
I am this way,
and I do not wish
to be here
or anywhere
anymore.
This is my final call,
dying Universe,
thank you.

I’m wishing I never slept
too fuzzy headed to write
something anything.
At least you didn’t sleep
through it,
you have yourself
just enough time
to complete your goal.
Write.
Write, boy.
Every fucking word you can
til it burns the back
of your eyes to think
of just one more way
to bend a phrase
anew.

I love you
like I love
Realism,
for I know
Magic.

A professor,
tall,
thin,
small beard
on the chin
of his handsome
face,
talks to an old man,
lonely,
watching college
students
construct
a memorial
for a fallen
friend.
Great master
of his craft,
“Wait until
you see
what time
does to you.”
he warns.

Your insecurities
are laid out
before me
like an open book.
Do not worry.
I shall read
your pages,
with
gentle fingers
experienced
in handling
fragile tomes.

You are the light
at the end of my tunnel,
the one who fills
my hope lantern
with its oils
so it may burn brightly.
You are many, my own safe harbor
of interconnected docking ships
at port,
import, export
coming and going
calling friends,
masts at rest.
I only wish I were
more something
and less other
are words I used to say
ways I used to feel
lacking conviction
promise and pride.
My ship has not faded
beneath the waves
to collect sea life.
I shall not fall
to the dark for I have you,
my many, my friends.

You went to sleep?
What are you doing?
This is important.
I have a busy day
of planned accidental meetings
and a long drive ahead of me.
Maybe something to look forward-
towards what?
The horizon
will always
be there,
steady
unmoving
just
so damn
far away.

He sighed,
content,
i could die.
Pause.
fuck that,
i’m fulfilled,
not done.
one.
two.
thee
for you.
epistle
letters arranged
poem to prayer
to page.
the risk.
the rush.
leaf the
loose losses
scattered sheets
prophets parchment
swiftly seeking
for information
gleaned and cleaned
to sparkle.
to fucking shine.
reservoir
reveal
man
with a mask
of mirrors
changling’s
persona
a forgotten
forest life
flooding
forthfar
longways and back.
The magic
returns
but that is
only because
my people
are fading.
i closed
my ears
to their calls
but no more.
i realize
mask o’ change
jack o’ lantern
silver and salt
sweat and luck
my gears are beginning
to turn.

I shall
run
head-
long
into
blazing fire
for you,
always.
Holding my
bucket
of water
dreams
and hose
eternal.
Wildfire
nightmares,
beware.