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New Poem: “introspection”

chaos in and out of everything –
cringe my way out of my skin –
turn it inside out to hide
behind the way i feel inside –

squiggle into my cavern of truth
examine the scars others left me –
leaving the gore for the world to see
as i wait for rebirth and youth –

vomiting out of my shell again
when safety prevails – so never –
a womb of quiet and contemplation –
a world lost – for now – forever –

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There’s a Nightmare Afoot

There’s a nightmare afoot
and I cannot tell if it is a dream
or reality rearing its ugly head
intent on breaking the spell –

Something dropped and then picked up
only to be dropped again –
play that on repeat for eight hours of sleep
and you’ll be wishing for the end –

Only to wake up for work – REPEAT –
like yesterday and the day before;
nothing new to do, nothing new to see
and no chance to really plan for more –

Only sleep to remind you,
honestly at least,
that there is a part of you
that always yearns for more –

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What Is the Value of Life If This Is All It Is Reduced To?

A quiet but merciless
centrifugal force
of inarticulate gibberish
burst from people’s lips
around me.
There is no respite
from the meaning
I fail to discern
in their murmurings.
There is no peace
to be had from moving lips
and flailing hands
that corner me.
There is no life
that doesn’t include
this meaningless
display.
Then what’s the value
of a life
if this is all
it is reduced to?

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The Moth Inside

The moth inside me yearns
towards the people in the crowd
with their invisible light –
the aura of their company invisible by sight –
although each contact only causes me to burn.

Yet still I find myself
dwell on their presence by me
though from a safe, slight distance –
their presence cast the only light in sight
and so I must return – if only once again to burn.

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I Shrink Down Next To You

Blanketed by darkness
that nestles itself
around my heart –
probing my brain
with foggy tentacles
for light left –

Leaden arms and legs
that feel unlike my own
and a voice that speaks
through my mouth
though I can’t hear the words
or stop the sound –

Did the world always
turn so slowly?
Was the light always
this dull?
How come you don’t see
the changes
while I shrink down
next to you?

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As the World Forgets My Existence

A scorching summer’s sun
sinking
making way for
pale pink ribbons
flailing
disappearing
into inky bluish black –

We stood here once
your back not turned –

Do you remember
who I am?
Did that memory
fade
or does a trace –
at least –
remain?

A faint ribbon
dancing
vaguely through your brain –
doomed
to fade.

I feel myself fade –
I dissolve
swirling into the pink
vapour
that vanishes
with the sun
as the world
forgets
my existence.

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On the Nature of Faces

I am what I am
and nothing more
(yet nothing less) –

a faceless voice
praising a world
made out of faces –

always scorned
for things I can’t control,
alter or make undone

but never praised
for those things that I can –
not for a single righted wrong.

The faces of the world
never turn my way –
they do not heed my words.

But I praise myself to say
that I don’t turn from anyone
since I don’t have a face to turn away.

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Reality Check

Liberated consciousness,
self-realization –
not really.
Somehow realizing the “self”
always has consequences
for others –
preventing others
from realizing themselves.

Escape your comfort zone
(to boast about it)
forgetting in your haste
that your comfort zone
does not exist
in a vacuum
but overlaps the comfort zones
of those around you
whom you may not
have consulted
about the escape –

Your dream.
Someone’s nightmare.
What makes you think
your dream
is what’s more real?

Humans are flawed –
more so because they
ignore the real flaws
and invent other –
unimportant –
“flaws” they’d rather improve.

“Move fast and break things.”
Why is it
that I always have the feeling
of trailing behind
the rest of humanity
alone
with a broom –
trying to tidy up
at least an inch-wide path
through the mess
you all leave behind
for future generations
to struggle through
or drown in?

I am Chiron –
I can make you feel better
about yourself
at the cost of myself –

I am Cassandra –
but wise enough to not speak
and only write
since most people
are too lazy to read
and even fewer
intelligent enough
to understand –
whereas if you speak out loud
everybody thinks they understand you
even though the smartest
only scrape the surface
of the words
obscuring meaning –

I am King Midas
(dressed as a woman)
with the exception
that I don’t turn things to gold
but to poetry –
equally impractical
but much less lucrative –

I would much rather be myself
but the rest of humanity
cuts the queue
and butts me out the way
declaring their right
to self-realization –
(it must be a lonely search -)
and I have not the arrogance
of humans
so I stay quiet
and write –

Stay in the heat –
Play the game –
Oh, I’d do it for inspiration!
But only because
your idiosyncrasy
makes for good poetry!

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Light Requires Darkness

I carry with me a darkness
that prevents me from taking flight,
a burden of thoughts that possess
and bars me from the light.

I thought that I should name it
to understand and will it away
but names tend to bind things
and so might make it stay…

Instead I tell myself
and the whole dispassionate world
that light requires darkness
in order to ever unfold.

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I Have No Voice That You Can Hear

I heard your question.
I strove to answer.

The words swelled in my throat,
they got stuck, wiggling their way out,
writhing, tearing at my windpipe –

You just stood there.
You just stared at me.

But the words were there –
it wasn’t for lack of trying –
it’s just that I have no voice
that you can hear.

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On the Verge

I am waiting to disperse,
I’m almost on the verge of dissipating –
let my components find rest
if that’s the only kind of rest to find…
I’m ready to slip past
the past, the present, and into the future,
a future waiting in the dark
in which I may or may not play a part…
I will flit away someday –
I will run with the sun
over this small globe
on light feet, light-headed, freed
from the chains my body imposes
knowing neither joys nor pains –
would that be happiness?
Or would it simply be a change
from one form to another,
yet again, and yet again,
proving once again
all higher thoughts in vain?

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The Arrival of Spring

Spring arrived
or so I decided
today.

The dark fog
hovering in my head
I willed away.

At least for now
the sun shines
and the air is clear –

the cold awakens thoughts
and silences
the nightmares –

The snow of yesterday
already melted,
disappeared

it took with it all traces
of our movements there –

the sludge seeps through my shoes,
no longer waterproof.
It’s good,
it helps me stay awake –

I hung away my winter coat
this morning
since I choose
not to allow the winter to go on –

and if the winter disagrees
so be it –
I’d rather catch a cold
than stay inside

My feet are freezing
but it helps me breathe –
it helps maintaining focus,
not to feel

and I will walk today
and stay outside
and try to think

and I won’t sleep until
the thinking
has been done

Spring arrived today
because I need it now –
I cannot wait two weeks
for clarity of mind.

I’ll air out my brain
and will the darkness away
and see what I can find –

perhaps some energy
that I thought lost –

perhaps a way to will away
the nightmares of the past –

perhaps a flower sprouting
in a pool of half-thawed
ice-encrusted mud –

perhaps to catch a cold –
that would be something new to think about –
perhaps I could –

perhaps a beam of sun
that cannot yet be felt –

perhaps a stray thought
that could help me write a poem
again –

perhaps some lungfuls of the air
might help me sleep
a healthy sleep
with no nightmares –

My feet have led me
out into the park
where they sink
into the thawing soil –

the earth seemingly knows
that I need to feel grounded –

With feet like icicles
I proceed
ahead –

the Spring of my making,
right here and now,
a stuttering breath –

an interlude between darkness
and darkness –
light, cold and wet –

alive –

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I Have Not the Arrogance of Humans

I have not the arrogance
of humans –
mine is not the voice
of presumption –
I walk among them
in silence
and they do not sense
my presence –

I have not the bearing
of them –
not their arrogance,
pretense –
not their wild-eyed fury
at ideas
that scatter in the wind
around the bend –

I have not their beliefs
and dreams –
their hopes and fears
and follies –
I won’t purport to understand
their ways.
I understand enough
not to try –

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You Called Me Forth

You called me forth
and I stumbled out
into this light
that blinds me.

“Well, here I am –
what is it that you wanted out of me?
Not what you get?
I see.”

Well, here I stay
mindful of the glares
that no-one dares
aim at my face
directly –

If only they could see my mind –
there’s truths in there they cannot face –

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It’s Not That I Don’t Care

It’s not that I don’t care
it’s that I do not have the energy
to respond
that which you want to hear.

It’s not that I don’t see
it’s that I see too much
of then and now
and what will fail to be.

It’s not that I don’t hear
it’s that there is no point in saying
anything
since you won’t really hear.

It’s just the way I feel
and nothing you can do or say
will make your words
seem true, or even real.

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Words

Words are empty shells –
worthless to describe a world
that falls through our hands
like grains of sand.

If you try to define
your stars and how you see them shine
your words will kill the wonder
and leave emptiness behind.

So say no more to me –
no more empty words –
much more can be contained
in vision, touch and scent.

Speak not – silence heals
words cause numbness – nothing else
avoid word’s lure and sense
the silence – how it mends.

(written when I was 18)

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Seen From a Distance People Lose Their Eyes

Seen from a distance people lose their eyes –
be that distance in time, place or thought –
and it is much easier to see someone that way
instead of seeing them for who they are.

It takes so terribly much effort to see someone
when they aren’t right beside you,
and preferably look and talk like you
and agree with everything you were to say.

So much easier to let them stay where they are,
well out of sight at a safe distance from you,
and let their eyes dissolve as well as other features
that might make them seem as human as yourself.

Seen from a distance no features can be discerned,
least of all the eyes (the “mirror of the soul”),
that could possibly convince you that they might
be worth getting to know; worth listening to.

And for our convenience in the 21st century
we have technology to make it so much easier
than before to blind oneself to anything and anyone
who doesn’t come in handy for you personally, right here and now.

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I Wake in the Middle of the Night

I wake in the middle of the night
with outstretched arms
reaching for that which slips out of my grasp –
the world, life, sanity,
a future worth living in,
dreams worth dreaming
that actually stand a chance of coming true –

I fall asleep again and dream of dissolving,
dissipating,
disappearing –
I hear voices all around me
but when I answer them
they turn out to be just that;
voices
without senses
though they are embodied,
they cannot hear me
or they do not want to.

I wake in the morning, exhausted
and too tired to speak –

I tell myself that I might as well
live in the present
since it is all downhill from here
and the future gets more and more bleak
by the minute
and shrinks accordingly as well.

But if only someone listened –

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I Wonder

I wonder if I am
the only thinking person in the world –
or if perhaps
the world itself consists of nothing but a thought –
I wonder if
these people passing me with endless words
are capable of thoughts
that aren’t stray or passing –
I wonder if the act of talking
doesn’t dim the mind eventually,
if all the noise obstructs the thoughts
that might expand one’s understanding of the world –
I wonder if
other people were to remain quiet
how much would they get to think?
How likely is it that they would
begin to write?

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Epiphyte

I have no roots;
I am an epiphyte
dangling in the air.
My thoughts
are rootless, prancing
here and there and everywhere.

I have no wings
so I can’t learn to fly –
my restless thoughts
keeps telling me
to question why.

I know no past, no future
and the present now
is blurry and vague
and does not want
me to question how.

I vaguely think
that something might be wrong –
but then I look around
to see all others are like me,
and then the thought is gone.

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I Had a Vision

I had a vision
when I first browsed the web:
An open world
where information
was available to everyone –
information to improve the world.

Knowledge shared
and built upon.
Improved,
passed on.

I thought; finally a medium
for everyone.

This must be the future.
And a future worth working on
(so I learned to code)
but I shouldn’t have been so sure…

I lick my wounds today
disturbed at the ugliness
I helped to access the world
full of unsuspecting prey.

I can say that I didn’t know
it could ever come to that
and it would be true, though –

The honest words might be
that I wanted to believe
in humanity
despite its apparent flaws.

I gambled
and I lost –

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New Poem: “Evening Falls”

This isn’t actually a new poem – it is a new version of an older poem that I wasn’t good enough at the time to make rhyme properly.

All the same, I won’t add a long description as the poem is fairly self-explanatory. You know how, when you’re in love with someone and want to let them know but is crippled by anxiety and fear of rejection? Yeah, basically that.

The night creeps up above us,
envelops us and shows us
light is unnecessary

The evening winds caress us
and breathes their lightness on us
slowly in disarray

We sit and night falls on us
its darkness all around us
we sit here quietly

And had we hoped between us
that night would ease and help us
more so than did the day

We should have felt within us
a certain sense of loss
at not knowing what to say

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Evening Dew

A trembling tune of blended birdsong
in the wood at nightfall –
the setting sun, the rising mist,
the thoughts of what today’s been done –

Your graceful poise out on the porch
as you observe the fading beams of day –
it must’ve been the evening dew
that stained your cheeks – and then you’d say;

“the world is changing all too fast, and so is I,”
and turned your saddened amber eyes to me –
but I will not believe that tears could be
the substance trickling down the face of you;

the foremost of this world’s now-living men?
It cannot be – it was the evening dew.

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Dystopia anno 20**

I.

It was a cold autumn day in-between late summer and the rainy season. The smell of rain was in the air, and the overcast sky already threatened with it, but it hadn’t started yet and could easily drag out for days. The buildings looked sharp in the grey light. A 3D animation printed onto the fabric of reality. Only the wind disturbed the image somewhat by ruffling the trees and sighing repeatedly. A few trees were yellow and red but most were still green and the orchard still showed the surreally red spots of forgotten, ripe apples there was nobody to pick.
And so the scene is set for the story.

Continue reading Dystopia anno 20**

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Understanding Others

The centrifugal force of words washed over her, swirled around her, made her dizzy. ‘But that’s what shrinks do’, she figured, watching with increasing numbness as the man’s lips kept moving, making words that increasingly seemed to dissipate and dissolve as they emerged into sound, ‘they talk and they talk and they talk until you barely know your own name anymore, and then they demand answers that you never had in the first place. And when you fail to answer, they’ll force an answer upon you, believing that they know all there is to know about you after reading a textbook. And at that point you’ve become too weakened by the sheer force of their words to even bother protesting.’

She thought of her childhood, as she was asked to do. But she didn’t see the connections she was told to look for. Rather, she saw glimpses of a world she could hardly believe had ever existed and didn’t feel like it held much connection to the present at all.
Sweet glimpses of herself gathering seashells, watering plants, jumping in rain puddles. Singing.
Sad glimpses of herself running away from the tears and the screaming, her mother’s furious face and foaming mouth that she didn’t understand what had caused – only knowing that she somehow got the blame.
Bittersweet glimpses of herself learning to pretend and lie since nobody cared anyway. The bottles she hid in her home. The scars she hid under her sleeves. The soothing calm of a whole bottle after work – the feeling of weightlessness. Not having to care anymore.

She thought of it all and understood less and less as she did so. But telling that to a complete stranger who seemed to have made up his conclusions in advance didn’t seem to make much sense.

She thought of all the people she thought was her friends, or hoped might become her friends. The people she grew up with. Today they were in the midst of careers and babies and living lives she didn’t understand while she felt like dissolving. She didn’t understand other people. She didn’t feel like pretending to understand them anymore. Illogical creatures, the lot of them. But what did logical thinking ever bring her, besides a free ticket to the torture that was this room, and this talking machine sitting across from her, still moving his lips.

‘Did you have a good childhood?’
‘Sometimes, I guess.’

‘Did you have friends in school?’
‘Some, I guess.’

‘How do you feel about your family?’
‘That’s difficult to say.’

‘What do you want in life?’
‘A life?’

A life. A goal. Meaning. Help. Guidance.

But since nobody ever offers me that…

Peace. To close my eyes and never open them again. To sleep and never wake up.

But you were offered help?
No, I was only offered words.

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HER 1: Waiting for Her

I.

It was raining as usual. Since autumn set in the rain had been almost constant. She had hardly seen the sun in over three weeks.
All the same, the weather fit her mood.
She was waiting for the bus. It felt to her as if all she had ever done in her life was waiting. For the bus. For Her. For the bus again. Benching. Waiting for the bus. Waiting for Her. Benching. Waiting. For Her.
The rain weighed down her otherwise fluffy hair, and the drops on her glasses made it impossible for her to see. She took them off. Not that it helped in the least bit. It just made the world blurry instead of blotched.

Continue reading HER 1: Waiting for Her

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Glimt

Du kender mig ikke
og jeg kender ikke verden
men vi foregiver begge
kendskab –
vi ønsker begge at forstå
ting der overgår
vor forstand –

Et glimt af et menneske der taler,
munde bevæger sig
og øjne danser,
hænder glider gennem luften –
aldrig i ro.

Jeg forstår ikke mennesker
med deres korte glæder,
korte sorger,
korte tanker –
men jeg foregiver kendskab
da jeg skal forestille
en af dem.

Et glimt af dig
under glimtende lamper,
hvirvlende rundt i dans
i selskab med
en Strawberry Daiquiri.
Jeg forstår dig ikke –
du,
med din klingende latter,
smilende mund,
usmilende øjne.

Et glimt af mig
set fra oven
med en bog i hånden
og en verden i tankerne
der fjerner al evne
til at fungere lige her og nu…

Jeg forstår ikke mig selv –
kun
at jeg ønsker at forstå?
Hvad med dig?

Et glimt –
dit smil –
div kvidrende stemme –
ingen tanker for i går,
ingen tanker for i morgen;
tanker for et ‘mig’
som ikke er…

nej –

du ønsker nok egentlig ikke
forståelse –
du ønsker nok livet nu og her
og at få det overstået,
gennemprøvet…
Overstået
og krydset af som fuldført
på din endeløse bucket list
blandt
rejser og oplevelser,
fester og sammenkomster,
fortielser,
forglemmelser,
fortrængninger.

Et glimt af os begge
da vi var børn –
med fødderne i vand
under en varm, venlig sol
inden vi skulle tilbage
til det sted der kaldtes “hjem” –

erindringer er subjektive –

børn ser så meget for meget
og forstår så meget for lidt –

Jeg kendte dig aldrig rigtigt
og du kendte ikke mig –
ikke for alvor,
kun i glimt.

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Portalen

Dørens magi
skræller smilet af mit ansigt
og kaster det op i vinden –
det bliver svært at fange
når jeg skal ud igen.

Dette ene skridt over tærsklen
fører mig fra én verden
til en anden.
Men selv herinde klæber det til mig;
menneskers øjne,
de ting de siger, som jeg ikke forstår –
tavsheden der langsomt kvæler mig.

Men smilet slipper jeg da i det mindste for.

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Jeg er hende

Jeg er hende
hvis øjne lyser op når de ser
ting du ikke kan se –
jeg er hende
der forærer dig en digtsamling
i form af stilhed –
jeg er hende
som accepterer din tilstedeværelse
og måske havde kunnet lide dig
hvis du bare ikke
talte så meget –
jeg er hende
som ikke hører hvad du siger
fordi dine ord blot er en
irriterende baggrundsstøj
bag lyden af vandets brusen
i mit indre landskab –
jeg er hende
der tænker ved at skrive
i stedet for at fable løs
om ting jeg ikke forstår –
jeg er hende der forstår
at al den snak
kun fører til
at man længes
efter stilhed.

Jeg har stilhed
draperet omkring mig –
hvis stilheden regerede
ville den være
bedre fordelt
mellem alle,
men nu klamrer den sig
kun til mig –
jeg er hende
der en dag vil
blive kvalt af stilhed
fordi I andre
snakker
så meget –
så højt –

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Who I Am

The cold light of dawn that highlights all flaws –
I stand firm in the face of danger,
humiliation,
misunderstanding –
for lack of alternative.
What does the world have to offer me
but a prison made of human hearts –
cells made of words
with bars made of meaning.
If I could solve the riddle
I could break free.
The cold light I shed on the world
makes it easier yet more difficult to see.
All details sharpened,
all meaning blurred.
All questions blatantly showing,
no answers acceptable.
I long for shade,
peace,
night.
But the light is everywhere.
I stand in the middle of it,
illuminated by it
yet unseen by others.
I stand unwillingly
processing
everything.
No rest is offered me
ever.
I am the cold light of dawn
which nobody likes
since it shows them
all that is wrong with the world –
and with themselves.

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Appreciation

Appreciate you! How can I?
Can a fish breathe the air?
Don’t ask me to live out a lie,
return to your own sphere –
you cannot find what you seek here.

Can horses see the beauty
in purple thistle flowers,
or do they, after being stung
by thistle thorns, return
to admire the flower’s beauty?

And can the busy spider see
the beauty of the dewdrops in its web?
No? – Then don’t ask of me
that I take such unnatural a step.

I can’t appreciate – don’t ask –
do not pursue this unnatural task;
asking a fish to appreciate the tranquility
of a breeze that cannot be felt beneath the sea –
how could you even ask?

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Confessions

Two stories inter-mingled. To You (you know who you are)

My mother made me store up
copper coins for wedding shoes –
at three years old I told her then:
“I won’t need those when I don’t want a husband!”
She said: “You’re too young to understand,”
and with a condescending look of pity off she went.

I grew in size, grew round in places too
and caught the eyes of those I didn’t want
but went unnoticed by the ones I’d like to know –
when mother asked: “Are you in love?” I would deny:
“No boy has caught my eye,” (and it was true)
and thinking of the girl I liked I went.

Yes, this one girl I really liked; I brought her home as guest,
presented her to mother as my “friend”,
and halfway through the conversation mother then complained:
“Why don’t you have a boyfriend yet?”
My girlfriend laughed and went.

And then the day came when I went to see my mom
dressed in my very best suit, necktie, shirt,
desiring now at last to tell her who I was, but home
she greeted me with: “You look like a dyke!”
and with a look that’s half of pity, half of pain
each tore the other from her heart
and from her doorstep finally I went.

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Seams of Reality

You are
a being more of my imagination
than of reality
a superb and infallible creation
contradictory
perhaps to the true version

I’ve met
you once and never will I forget
the dream
surrounding the place and time we met
the seam
of reality flossed, broken to shreds

You don’t
know who I am, and you will never know
I remain
in hiding somewhere, I will never show
how vain
how drawn I am to you

And you
are unaffected, never will you see
what lurks
behind my eyes, as they continuosly seek
the mirth
in your eyes that makes me weak

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You’re Here

It was too late when finally I realized
that for the first time in over three years
we’d been to the same place at the same time,
but without knowing the other one was there

I saw you not, I heard you not; but you were there,
I sensed you not in the bustling crowd; but you were near,
I left without having seen the object of my dreams
and thoughts of it are almost too much for me to bear

Should I now think it comforting to know that
seeing your face would just remind me of the past
so not seeing it is better, since the past is lost?
How could I find that comforting when I myself feel lost?

Lost without you, the only thing to comfort me now
is thinking that we are still united somehow –
trapped together on this planet, breathing the same air,
you’re not as near as I would like, but at least you’re here

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New Poem: “Vitriol”

Is there something left to say?
Is there some good in store for humanity?
I wonder, as I always did;
I worry, as I should!

The world is always changing.
And so are we as well.
But I was always told that things
would turn out for the better?
Now, I need to see it happen
in order order to believe in anything at all!

I absolutely hate this vitriol –
I hate this cruel division.
Aren’t we all people?
Aren’t we all human?

Can we not stand together?
Can we not agree?
We share the world
with one another –
is that so hard to see?

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New Poem: “All Outside of Me and I Outside of All”

Watching tableaus change before my eyes –
people moving, scenarios altered,
everything now happens in a sort of vacuum –
all outside of me and I outside of all.

All outside of me and I outside of all
I float in the stillwater of myself
observing storms that rage around me –
have done so for years beyond recall.

And I am young by human standards
but my heart feels old.
I observe the heat of others
and it leaves me cold.