Voice, Retold

@voiceretold

Welcome to weird. Make yourself as comfortable as this screen will allow.

311 posts

It's impossible to explain, but when you see that much of the world...through the eyes of so many...you can't help but be sad...to see all these incredible, intelligent people fight the same battles and make the same mistakes over and over again. Because culture and knowledge and history...these things, they aren't passed on through our genes. Every kid on earth needs to relearn the basics: how to live, how to survive, how to stand for what's right. But so much is lost in the transfer...so much is added, every generation. It's a shame. Over and over, everything must be learned again.

Subject 17 - memo 1 :: Assassin's Creed IV

I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.

Maya Angelou :: 1928-2014

18/30 :: The lamb was not slain but stricken

Remember the shepherd?

He walked before the flock protected them from prey not to mention their own futility He fed them the richest sustenance and let them sleep in prime estates

He told stories when they were afraid and sang with them when they were fearless

He trusted them to do good work and they believed he would direct them without failure

But when it came time for each of them to be tied down and bled they charged the fence and tore across the pasture

The only blood left was in the shepherd's veins and he offered it without indignation

But the knives did not know where and how to cut this flesh so in their effort they bruised it The blades tried harder and broke the shepherd's bones

Over and over they prodded never noticing that he did not bleat like the typical animal

So they ceased their efforts herded him to the countryside to succumb to his wounds and convinced everyone that a lamb was slain

The lamb was not slain but stricken not slaughtered but sore and marked not offered as a gift but surrendered for its tenacity

#poetry #30in30

17/30

Flight of feet Heavy rotation A smart read Just a strike Mark up And follow along

#poetry #30in30

16/30

For a free lunch and a thoughtful glance I will build you an empire

#poetry #30in30

15/30

If you listen closely to the floorboards they will tell you of their children of the long nights of debauchery of poor manners

They will lament their forefathers and betray their family name

But when the moon gleams through the bay window and stretches wall to wall they will lie voiceless

#poetry #30in30

14/30

My skin reddened and body badly parched, I take the bus to where I hope there is a fountain. It is somewhere deep below the southern skies, well past the keeper of the fall. They say I will know it when I see it, but my hope is all but lost after the fourth stop. From then on, it is me and the driver, one of us always watching the other. I, hoping he has a map and compass, and he, hoping I drift off to sleep.

#poetry #30in30

13/30

Families of broken bones dance around cold fires where they live.

To the sound of tattered jukebox hits from days gone by.

When they see an open grave, it only means inevitable war.

But if they can reach out beyond here, the sun forgives.

#poetry #30in30

12/30 :: How the West Was Won

- Thinking outside the box while sleeping in it

- Walking between rooms so fast the carpet peeled

- Never noticing the smell

- Lamp light and old speakers

- Opening hatches

- Cleaning the floors without soap

- Pushups

- Visiting the zoo and bringing home the principals

- Exercising privilege

- More coffee than water

- Using profanity for sentimental value

- Strong hearts and stronger personalities

- Never cheating self

#poetry #30in30

11/30

Each day, as my calendar fills, it also widens. Today, next week became annual. And tomorrow, this year will span decades. Color-coded and sprawling, I meticulously plot my life in half-hour increments. Each appointment and event perfectly contiguous to another and another and another. I scrutinize my minutes, and analyze the white space. So why am I always late? This widening timeline always out of reach, always one step ahead of its creator. I am forever everywhere in time. But I will never be anywhere on time.

#poetry #30in30

10/30 :: [Insert Body Here]

Melt it down to an algorithm wound tightly around the antithesis of evolution, proudly displayed atop the unified theory of panic. Its fingers seek help and its eyes fall silent.

#poetry #30in30

9/30 :: pedals, spokes, and brisk fall air

for seven years his legs pumped, pushing him block to block in a mile-long loop he knew which streets were for picking up speed and which were for casual coasting without glancing down, he could steer himself to the where the uneven sidewalk met briefly enough for his narrow tires for hours on end, through suppertime and curfew, skidding around corners or tearing through parks he didn't stop until dew formed on lawns and the streetlights flickered out and sometimes he left town, heading north as far as the interstate, only turned around because there was nowhere else to go except south, to where the blacktop split on the state border and everything looked a little more foreign night after night and through every weekend, he wore his tires so bald they frayed and the handlebar grips were no more than shreds for him, it was never because there was nothing else to do it was never about escape it was always about belonging it was about having a place to call his own

#poetry #30in30

8/30 :: When he put it all together

Napsandscriptsandthingsthatrhymewithpurpose Backtrackingthroughshortstoriestofindthequestion Tunedguitarsforaworthwhilehobby Cleancarpetsandapillowfight Parentswhoareneitherproudnorpatronizing Accutesenseoftaste

#poetry #30in30

7/30

Somewhere in a deep drink of absinthe, buildings are taller and the sun only sets halfway. Gardens need not be tended, yet they will flourish so not a single toad goes hungry. The roads are filled with bicycles, tricycles, and hopscotch games drawn for blocks. When the bars close, the wind sings ballads and couples slow-dance all the way onto their front porch. The air always smells of roasted coffee, rivers fill with stickleback, and no one ever gets ill.

#poetry #30in30

6/30

A chocolate croissant or a brioche bun.

A God of immense determination.

A sun-kissed shoulder and two hours of frisbees.

A cold shower.

A missing tv show.

A tight squeeze during a long nap.

#poetry #30in30

5/30 :: To Meet the Swan-Bird

What's over there? Tell me, how are all of these bees confiding in her? Why doesn't my sepia-toned heart speak to lowly bees the same way? When, in the story of my life, will my chest house those bees?

Put them in the castle that my ancestors built. Mouth to them the instructions for flying.

Then let them out.

And when they begin flying, let her out.

And when she begins flying, let me out.

#poetry #30in30

4/30

It takes more than just a good lie to break even.

#poetry #30in30

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