Revival

The world is death and judgement.
Reveling in such horror,
One is forced to face the insufficiency,
Of mundane, time consuming, torment and complacency. 
And upon being confronted with this most grave, and ungraspable tendency,
The mind goes blank.
Just writhes and squirms -
An unearthed worm,
Caught between the meaty, 
And indelicate fingers of fate.

The world is pain and decay.
Such that every so often, 
An unforgiving ray of sunlight 
Sets flame to ants.
Looking ever closely, 
Blindly,
Scorching eyes ablaze,
Lit by unseen hands
hovering a million miles away.
The ants are seen. 
Scoured,
Scorned;
Cinders in sidewalk cracks, 
stains silently mourned.
Though, everyone cries when they’re born,
And through ash a Phoenix forms.

So the world is chaos and inconsistency,
Revere the mess!
Create new incoherency, 
Maybe even some makes sense.
Whatever is broken can be built again,
and there is always another safe haven.
And so if the world is death,
If it is judgement, pain, and decay, 
Let it be known that room does still remain For better days, 
For the feeling of a loving gaze,
For a chance to heal, to change.
So spite the fear of existence,
and bind with tight embrace,
Those crushing hands of fate.
Show that the world contains
At least one friendly face,
And begin to make space, 
To ease the ache.

– E.B.

I have been working on this piece for two years now, maybe longer. I will continue to edit it, I’m sure, but I finally feel like it conveys almost exactly what I intend and that’s an exciting feeling. So, in light of that, I’m obliged to post it now. Thank you for reading!

Joyous Noise

Silence into laughter;
A thunderous boom,
A comfortable bloom,
That does transform a room.

Saturnine into giggling;
A slow, yet uncontrollable retreat,
A sweet, incomparable relief,
That does soothe everything so. 

– E.B.

Momento Vivere

Wait and wait
Until it’s too late.
I think you used to think of me,
Maybe, in a different way.
There was a connection to fight;
An eager urge, a primal surge 
always caught in a bottom lip bite.
Was that in your line of sight?
I think we used to be at ease in a way we aren’t now that freedoms seize. 
Mellow to bright,
Blinding as first opening eyes to light;
I see and I’d like to hide.
I think of times that never were,
But could have been;
Things I’ve never said, 
But could still mean.
I think often of things that mean nothing:
The soft second of skin against skin,
The scent of cologne subtly swaying through the den,
A warm and relentless strum played by hands I’ll never know,
A self proclaimed throne inside layers upon layers of walls made of stone. 
I’d like to let it all go:
The solid sound of the same things on tv,
The way I laugh twice as loud at all the same jokes,
The absolute awareness of being almost a little too close,
The way you don’t seem to think very obviously of any of it,
And the desire to know if you’d dare be aware at all.

– E.B.

Thank goodness for words.

I used to fill books with words,
Uncensored, 
Unrefined,
Hardly legible most of the time. 
I held pen to paper till the pages wore thin,
Till the ink ran dry, 
Scribbling until day turned to night.
Riveting in solitary delight. 
I had nothing to say, 
No one to hear.
Yet, 
So much I thought, 
And into the pages went 
Every T’s line and every I’s dot,
Until I felt 
Less distraught.

Scaredy-cat

I’m afraid of age,
And death.
I’m afraid of time,
And choices.
I want it to be poetic,
And romantic, 
But it’s deadpan,
And frantic.
I’m afraid of being alone,
And being lonely.
I’m afraid of being too loud,
And too quiet.
I want to feel good 
About turning out the lights, 
And the thoughts I have 
Before bed at night.
Instead, 
I feel it’s always too early,
and my lights stay on, 
As the thoughts in my head 
Consist largely 
Of words I don’t like. 

-E.B.

A Watched Pot Never Boils

Enamored by worthwhile,
Tangled in meanwhile,
Watching water boil.

Inclusive, but intrusive?
Unnecessarily imperative,
An eye caught by the shine of tin foil,
Watching water boil.

Standstill venturing
Towards ephemeral unfettering,
Watching water boil.

How freeing a moment can be;
A breath of fresh air,
A touch, 
A stare, but
Watching water boil?

A comfortable squabble.
Inadvertently carnal,
The need to devour before time does spoil,
And touch hot oil,
Waiting for the water to boil.

– E.B.

The Hole Near the Floor

The chips in the paint
From the wrong kind of tape
Mock the mistakes I make;
Always laughing, 
Laughing in that angular way.
The dirt on the floor
That I pretend to ignore
Laments the days I forsake,
And the dishes that seem to grow
In a way that my plants refuse
Seek refuge in my cerebral escape.
Yet, the hole near the floor, 
To the left of the back door,
It was much smaller before.
Now its smile, 
Always widening,
Seems to say,
“It’s okay to look the other way,
To let the days slip away,
To embrace your decay.”
I hear it speak more everyday.
So, I put up new tape, 
I sweep the hall and entryway.
I fill up the washer,
and I find ways to hide 
That gaping grin.
They say,
“Do this day to day, 
To rid you of your dismay,”
But it never really goes away;
Just mocks, and laments,
Invades, and invents
Ways to play peekaboo,
With that enticing 
Smile of doom.

– E.B.

Thanks for putting up with me

Tell me one more time,
The reasons you’ll stay.
I know it’s late, 
You’re half awake,
And there aren’t enough dimes
For all the times
I’ve asked today.

Just once more though,
You’re sure you love me?
I know it’s been years, 
And you’ve been right here,
Each kiss still so sincere.
Sometimes I just can’t let go
Of all the fear
I need to outgrow.

You’ve said before,
But I incessantly implore.
My disarray is too much, even for me, 
To endure.
I know we’ve had a great day,
And you’re here to stay.
Your hand is even resting on my leg,
I just need to be reassured.

– E.B.

Selfish

I want to love,
To hold in my arms 
Unknowing existence;
To guide it
As it breathes,
Lungs ablaze with the air
Of passion,
Of pain,
Disdain.

I want to love,
To give everything for
Involuntary life;
To ensure survival
As it grows,
Bones aching with 
“What is the meaning?
Why exist?
Why persist?”

I want to love,
To be just so proud of
This unsuspecting,
Cornered soul.
To think just how lucky 
I am to have 
Burdened by breeding,
Intervening, 
Creating this being
Now fleeing the alteration-
Of-generations.

– E.B.

Don’t get me wrong, actual snakes are innocent

Snakes seduce,
So do you.
Slither slowly,
Writhe, and twist.
Strangling in plain view, 
Strangling submissive youth.

Smothered,
And desperate
Amidst a lack of air,
An unspoken truth 
Dies there.

Snakes mangle hearts
Constrict leisurely,
Grip and Conflict
Contorting with malice aforethought,
Contorting possible light, possible self,
Posterity.

Contorted,
And conditioned,
From a lack of care,
A child hides there
Scared and aware.

Snakes seize brains, 
So often unkind.
Spinelessly spinose,
Yet, 
“Of sound mind”.
They bind.

Bound day to day,
Obey. 
Relay.
Feel every blink of the eye, 
And crave the blue of every vein.


- E.B.