Questions jumble together like—
who am i
where did i go wrong
why have i never been in love
am i everything i always thought myself to be
Creating a sort of numbness that paralyzes.
And yet.
A greater weight crushes this messy inquiry—
i know who i am
i don’t need to know the future
i will find love one day
i am always changing
Banishing those nagging demons away.
Glittering diamonds spark in a night sky,
Illuminating a world eons away.
A light traversing the vastness of space
To brighten the dark for a brief moment.
Glimmering past shines down with false beauty,
Inspiring a world to seek truth afar.
A mystery weaving through history
To entice the weary dreamers away.
Glistening tears fall unbidden and cold,
Inviting a world to question the present.
A present teetering on its axis
To crumble or rise above a dead past.
So it begins, the endgame.
A knight flees; a bishop quits.
The king absent; the queen unknown.
The pawns scramble aimlessly.
Maneuver the pieces to no avail—
Witness the decimated board.
Oh, if the pawns only knew—
The futility of their actions!
A crown falls; the revolution begins.
The pawns seek to overthrow
The tyrant, the unseen hand.
Dust off your hands—game over!
Would you like to restart?
A foggy dawn rife with mystery:
Cold dampness clinging to the skin,
Beads of dew dotting the lifeless cars,
Muffled breathing in the heavy mist.
Sun hides behind a leaden gray sky
That crackles with impending storm.
The streets beckon.
Footsteps echo across the concrete.
From out of the dim shadows—
A voice, crystallized and sharp,
Words swallowed by the timely thunder.
Quicksilver lightning blinds the darkness.
Rivers cascade earthward;
A sonic clap jolts a car to life.
The clamor competes with thunder.
A stream of red washes away clean.
Abating storm purifies the morning.
The night passes like smoke.
Life relentlessly marches.
Death awaits behind.
Tea leaves spinning inside a cup,
Swirling, dancing, painting a portrait—
A normal morning: quiet and serene,
Before the hustle begins.
Rinse and repeat; the leaves change—
The dance remains the same.
A normal morning: calm and peaceful;
The twirling leaves paint a different…
picture.
A murky vision of time unknown,
A normal morning: erased and unwanted.
Take the tranquility and smash the cup.
The seeping leaves spell a new beginning.
Once there was a whitely ghost,
Who calmly cruised the wide coast.
Then arrived a cat.
Ginger, old, and fat.
They love watching the sea the most.
There was a question once that used to haunt me.
I can no longer remember it.
What does that say about me?
Is time such a great healer? Or is it a destroyer?
Memory fails unless you are machine, and even then…
Hardware crashes; memory is overwritten, corrupted.
We stand in the middle of a field of wheat.
Golden, crisp sun rays heap down upon our upturned faces.
Bathe in the sunlight; breathe the dry summery air.
Cicadas drone in the backlit horizon, splashed in red and yellow.
There was a memory here that I cannot recall.
All I remember are the sounds and the smells.
Sensations!
Like the charcoal burning, a smoky and warm scent.
The sizzling of meat and oil blending in harmony.
The dog barking as he scrambles for leftovers.
A baby’s happy squeals and her mother’s delightful laugh.
Who were these people? Did I know them?
Or was I a bystander.
A witness to a portrait of life.
Sometimes there is a woman in my dreams.
Raven hair spun in midnight curls, her hands—
They reach; they stretch, tapered fingers shaking
I think she was trying to touch me.
Then she disappears and I wake.
What’s in a name when the mind inevitably crumbles?
You cannot remember it; why should others remember it?
Useless pride in the face of an anonymous reflection.
Should I cry? Should I laugh?
Blood splatters against the wall.
I nearly slip as I enter the room.
A woman with raven hair sits at the center, hands tied.
Tears fall from her…
Her hands shake with coiled tension, stretching, stretching.
A metallic stench floods, the radio counts down.
Tinny voice, imagine a toothpaste ad smile.
A car screeches to a halt outside, disgruntled honks ensuing.
Hear the gagged cries from the woman with raven hair,
Her face streaked with tears, red nose from crying, her…
I look away.
A false scene, but who really knows anymore.
One life, a million choices, a million identities.
I could have been—
A doctor, a serial killer, a writer, an arsonist,
A husband, a rapist, a philosopher, a philistine…
A man. A woman.
Bright day.
I look at the wall and see a picture.
A woman with raven hair smiles happily,
Hands placed gently around the shoulders of a man.
Underneath is an inscription written in gentle loops,
“Who am I?”
The mirror shows me an unfamiliar reflection.
Several seconds hesitance, a second glance to the picture,
Her blue eyes dance, and the man beside her stares at me—
Peacefully.
“That is me,” I say.
Breathe, my mind tells me,
As the looming horror lingers yonder.
Red, all I see is red—
Its putrid breath tainting the sky.
Breathe, my mind tells me,
As I watch in petrified terror.
A nagging sense in my muscles—
Contracting, attempting to escape, but failing.
Breathe, my mind tells me,
As my vision begins to waver.
The red is shatteringly bright.
I cannot feel the air around me.
Breathe, my mind tells me,
As the cold bites my limbs.
The muscles stop contracting;
Stiffened, I stand erect and unmoving.
Breathe, my mind tells me,
As I try to comprehend the fear,
Running through every nerve,
As I simply try to see.
Breathe, my mind tells me,
As the red leers over me.
Insulting, mocking, it taunts me.
My vision slides again.
Breathe, my mind tells me,
As forgotten senses attempt resurrection.
I am numb but the red keeps moving.
The fear so great I cannot feel it anymore.
I forget to catch my breath.
A Curious Hermit 