#reinawrites

[wordlesspoemtree]

Were I forgiven for all the world, would that I be forgiven first and foremost for those things I did not say, though they bore truth. Were I to be damned for all the world, may I be damned first and foremost for the love I bear you.

Would that I be damned for all that I love for I would choose it always, though it may damn me. Would that I be forgiven? I would wish to be forgiven for that which I don't forgive myself.

[wordlesspoemtree]

LaidBareBorneForward

I will drag my soft body into the future, I will pull with my arms, when my shoulders give out, my wrists will remain and struggle all the more, my fingers after that will scrabble and scrape forward forward forward, nails dig in my flesh and gouge out the pulp of me, dragging me forward forward forward, when the pulp gives out, you will see all else, it will tangle with my future, knots knots knots of fibrous materials and with them I will move again into the future.

The pain of moving on is worth finding out what happens next, driven through it I will discover all the people I will be, without shoulders,wrists,fingers,skin,pulp,fiber until there is nothing left of me I will go forward, whoever I become, I will use all of it to get there, all of me, all of my me-ness. The future will have to reckon with the skeletal remains of someone who lays themself bare.

[wordlesspoemtree]

Can't sleep can't sleep can't sleep. I am a reverberating echo of my soul screaming for relief and I can't even sleep to escape it for but a few meager hours. This dread ache and other sharp pain in all waking hours. The floundering mind scraping at fortitudes no longer available to us. Let me in I say to my dreams, most assuredly they let me not. What dreams that are not nightmares will I be allowed? Until a final rest closes my eyes unto the next life to be lived. Break down again and again the world shouts, become as dust and clay, perhaps you will be useful as a bowl where you lie in current shape as a beast of no great use. My form remains, despite the spirit molding into shapes of all types, wheresoever we find it useful or fun or creative.

May astral bodies and earthly forces, all that powers this vessel grant me all ability...to sleep. Where will we find ourself if this continues? The stress the strain the cracking spine and shuddering heart? Time does not rest either, she proceeds onwards, pulling ourself regretfully forward, unwillingly to-wards this creeping writhing. How slow. To fall to pieces through lack of rest. How quick. The mind quicker than imagined, body not far behind.

Gods... I am... tired of it all

[wordlesspoemtree]

There. Horizon.

You waited through the night and now.

The edge of land, lit by sunlight.

Just barely to start and then the fullness of orange and rose

But... wait. No. How can the light flow away?

Like so much sand I thought our hands held closed enough

A hole? Through which did flow, all that sand?

Most?

None?

The light did return will return, sun will rise and burn bright

Your shadow cast far along these hills.

Which will be worse? A hill enshadowed or the sun not rising?

I guess it depends on the perspective.

Perhaps the hill thinks the sun hasn't risen either way

[wordlesspoemtree]

Aiming to Miss

I'm trying to miss my moment, I'm trying to catch the minutes after golden hour, each picture to be taken in the dying light of a fouled sun, I'm trying to see my shadows portrayed in bright fridge light and paled fluorescents. I'm trying to paint before I see the full picture and I'm trying to hear the sound before I hear the words and each grasping second putting the pieces together a second after I need to catch the ball rolling downhill, I'm setting it free and watching it gather up dust and twigs and I'm standing at the bottom of the slope holding a door open to let it out into the world a step, two, ahead of any way of catching. I'm looking to see into the future and miss what's there, the past and trying to misconstrue who and what and how it was the things I most regret that came to pass. I'm breaking with my own idea of myself to miss the soul of the argument, I'm listening to the wind and not hearing the voice carried through the valley, I'm hearing the tune and the melody of a song and I'm aiming to misread every lyric, I'm chasing my mirages. Maybe Just Maybe, If I Keep On Chasing The Mirror, the opposite of everything i want then i'll get there. wherever there is.

[wordlesspoemtree]

I'm at the 6am bus stop by my old home, I'm waiting for the bus I'm taking it from here to there and maybe there and back again.

I've spoken old names in the dark to myself until they sound as dusty as my throat, for hours upon hours.

My childhood home, once the place of sanctuary and fear in one. A stranger to me now, fresh front lawn and trees missing.

The here and there isn't anywhere I've ever been but, I'm going anyway. A dire omen of futures to come.

I dreamt I was on my last chance to leave and catch my flight, my mother, oblivious, siblings complicit. They're trying to force me to stay.

I haven't been him for years and you want me to remold these bones into old and worn down shapes.

I'm bleeding from my eyes and my feet sprinting down the road to catch a plane. Where will I go?

[wordlesspoemtree]

Mirror

THIS mirror... broken long before you got it, the bad luck not yours to gain. Nor truthfully the right of any other soul, no the mirror cracked during creation, sturdy glass reflecting back a hundred different scenes, color it some say and it will be art. Throw it away others insist, it is dangerous. Those superstitious enough say not to interact at all, no, because what's easier to break than that which is already broken?

How many centuries of ill fortune to be gained by dropping the hundred times cracked mirror? Just 7 years some say but others insist oh no, when you inherited the mirror its properties begin anew 7 centuries one sentence apiece of each mirror held within. I will grant you no soiled fate, just rest and let me reflect back the perfect facets of your face. Once twice thrice a hundred separate times.

Broken but still useful, no one admires me for the art of my cracked casing, my wounded bearing, they still only care about their fate residing in my hands, though it has always only ever been in their own hands, how shredded must I be before the glitter of my glass entrances you once again to view me as what I am instead of how I can be used, or avoided?

[wordlesspoemtree]

Display

I need to drill screws through my fingers, I need an anchor shoved through my sternum, I need nails placed through my eyelids and I need all of what you are and what I am and what we are to be held on the wall of me, I need to display myself like a gallery and let you attach every sickening portrait you can dream up wherever you like. I want you to suspend everything you've got out on my fasteners and let the weight fully rest on me, let me hold you up and let me bear you.