24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I am a closet
Just a hole carved
into a wall
Mostly ignored
often used
quite abused at times
Children play
in my depths
Hide and seek galore
Teenagers abuse me
hiding forbidden things
and tears of angst
Within my depths
items long forgotten
A prom dress and matching shoes
Maternity tops,
Halloween costumes,
boxes of photos and photos and moreo
Atop a shelf in the very back
a album thick with dust
carries pictures only of our time as us
I wish I could describe the place where I live
I should probably call it a…house?
Yes yes, the place where we live ought to be called a house
But will you still describe it as one
If it is halfway to being one?
Has been so for many years now
There are rooms, yes; too many of them
Curtains too many, to keep the world from knowing what goes on in here
Furniture everywhere with no actual value nor aesthetic sense
It exists just like us, the inhabitants of this house
The outside is as messy, as purposeless as the inside
Overgrown hedges and wild flowers
But still this is my house and my home
Cold and without semblance but still where
I will always be welcome and always feel at home…
Futures Taken Away
Children are gifts
from the Divine Beings.
They are here to help
usher in new generations.
But they were not always seen
as the generations to come.
Even more so
if you were not white,
especially
if you were a pagan.
It was decided
that the devil
was the cause of it all
and the children’s souls
were corrupted
and needed to be “Fixed”.
That’s when soldiers marched in
and took all the kids
and shoved them into trains
to be carried away to a school.
There they were slapped,
kicked, yanked, cursed at
for talking their language.
Long hair was only for women,
so they chopped the boys hair
and forced to keep their mouths shut.
Many perished from heartache,
others endured
but were unrecognizable by their parents.
Those that passed
were buried in heaps
under their school,
as if they were
dust swept under a rug.
The future of Native Americans
and Canada became dimmer
as more children were dragged off.
The culture and language began to fade away.
Running with panted breathe
Umwilling to look back
Trying to escape, refuse to let this be my death
For enough of the nightmares that try to attack
I’ll run, I’ll leave
I’ll flee, I’ll grieve
For the past now set in stone
There’s nothing I can do to those evil and cunning
It’s done, I can’t rewind, there’s no safe time zone
So I’ll turn away, never look bac, and keep running
The cool morning air against my face,
The chirping of the crickets my only companion.
I am at peace in my happy place,
Full of serenity and tranquility.
With each step I take,
I become lighter as the stress melts away.
By the time I reach my front door,
I am floating on air,
Calm,
Focused,
Centered,
Ready to take on the day.
trembling
I crawl
towards
beautiful
sparkling
darkness
trying
desperately
not
to fall
into
the void
of despair
Dungeon Master (Haiku)
Creator of worlds
Master of dungeons and fear
Like herding felines.
Running
cw: none
Singing alone
was very different
from singing in front of another:
when the canary finally sang again,
it sang in front of
those sweet, gentle hands,
its friends.
It was not lifted
and put to work,
but there was applause.
It thought, perhaps,
it could sing again.
I have bound the sunset in a tower,
Scoured the beaches formed of oaken rain.
I have parted monumental shades of night
To find
Mirror cliffs, with mist all twisted into
Helical clouds pinned by opportunity,
And the forest of the lonely.
I have taken lightning in my hands
Without thunder,
I have pulled a thousand greedy fields
About my shoulders;
I have raised them up to dim the sun
And I have discarded them.
Where love has set the bounty of the orchard into furrows
I have sewn consummation, disarray.
And where time has thought to steal away unchecked,
I have given it a bell to spoil its hunt.