literature

Nameless

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dreamsinstatic's avatar
Published:
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Literature Text

I am undeveloped film
doused in sunlight,
steady motion in a still frame,
another trinket of memory
left dusty
in a chest of the forgotten
and memory
can no longer suffice.

Waiting in the rain
is never as romantic as I imagine,
cold rivulets
creep down my collar
and chill me to my bones
until I see
there is no fire which can warm me.

There are images
that creep beneath my flesh
and tear into the muscle
of my heart,
hands on hips and lips
on collar bones,
the intimate exchange of a glance
once mine
now flickering in an old darkness.

And yet
I am painfully aware
that I
am the one who has trespassed,
he who broke the door
but will not be invited within,
the outsider
watching always from the street
and never
crossing the threshold.

My heart is stained glass
against the wrecking ball of inaction,
flakes of red and gold
and love and pain
raining down
like celebratory streamers
dipped
in the black ink
of powerless poetry and
weakened words.

Thinking I may be more
I must dare
to hide no more in shadow and secret,
to expose my soul
to the harsh justice of light
and see
if I am meant to stand here
or fall away,
whether I am the reason
or the excuse.

So we march onward,
mourners at adjoining funerals,
over green hills
drowning in afternoon rain,
a tent of gray
staked into the broken bone
of mountain peaks,
sparks dying on the edge
of the hearth.

Eyes shut like casket lids
awaiting interment,
silence
forges chains around my wrists,
breaks my ribs
and turns my skin
a finer shade of blue,
an infinity
in which I've become trapped --
freedom
in a sentence unspoken.

Every thought,
memory and moment of my life,
stretches out
like a 35mm soul,
the light gleaming through my pours
is burning out
and I am stretched too broadly,
here I become
thinner than air
yet thicker than vacancy,
I am before
your appraising eyes.

I accept the bleakness of now,
that I may never see
sunsets on tropical shores,
instead witnessing
the last days of my name
withering
in the final vessel to carry it...

I may never know
the wonder of a bedroom door
with your warmth behind it,
here
my box is catching dirt
and my name
is gathering cobwebs on the stone.

Speak now
or forever hide my pieces,
just another little thing
given up
for the sake of the undeserving,
a man of misery
strangles out the light
and I
shall be no more my name
than I am the letters
in your chest,
than I am the beats
of a silenced heart.
Did a name ever make a man if both are lost to memory?  Was I ever really here?
© 2014 - 2024 dreamsinstatic
Comments1
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Supach's avatar
Lest we forget :tears: