The Poetry Bar

Opening the trunk roads

Every victory…
every blessing…
every little spark of magic
seems to have led me here,
into this wander-maze of endless roads, most of which seem to lead me right back to the empty room I started from…

and even in my echoing loneliness, I remember all the other things that once lived in the same heart.

I remember those massive, wild things that once lifted me with their presence. I remember watching their stories on a screen, back when my world had walls, and all I really wanted was to break them down.

I remember watching stories about their migrations across the wilderness…

about the way they would fondle the bones of dead comrades with their trunks, mourning friendships that would never move the same way again.

The screen shimmers a little, and the person sitting next to me is holding my hand with fragile fingers as we watch, reminding me of migrations we took together, in secret places they don’t make documentaries about…

When I’ve seen the non-existent snow,
over non-existent stars,

it feels as though swirl
and chill
are all that will ever be again –

a deadness from my face to my soul,
running all the way to hell.

But I call out anyway,
because the things that roam behind my eyes did not all come from what I saw in the walls:

Did you stand guard over my body in another life?

Did you raise your voice to the evening sky and bounce your songs of mourning into the distance?

Did you run your trunk over my dead bones?

Did you pour your secret weeping whispers over my spirit?

As I lay there,
not wanting to leave your devotion behind,
was it your song that carried me back to all those ancient paths?

Was it your song that brought to life the patterns I had made across your sacred highways?

And was that approval I felt across my cheek,
or just soft rain?

Is it your song that haunts me now?

Is it your song that keeps me from stumbling, in this broken world where all roads keep us apart?

It feels at times as though my life barely belongs here, in this body, in these streets, behind these windows…

yet one distant song continues to keep me strong.

Did you bless my bones once, so I would know, even here, that I still have friends in the herd?

And will it still be worth it, when our worlds come back together?

If so,
then keep the roads open for me,
trumpet my regards to all the other lost souls who wander here,
and walk a little by my side –

for there are worse ways to live,
and far worse ways to die.

I’m John…Hi.No intro I give myself will quite capture how much I crave a new world right now,both behind my eyes and beyond my window.I could write something cool here about how the glass is melting -but we both know that won’t make the glass melt any faster, and the world already has enough button-badge, t-shirt slogans.So here’s some elephants instead.


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