Not until death. Run as if life is something escapable.
No one gets out alive. Be a torch, burning. Be
the ashes, not the darkness. Be the light...
Be the only thing that shimmers
like a river bed full of washed over rocks. Don't stop.
Not until death.
Breathe. While the lights streak pass
like a carousel ride, a carnival of neon. There won't always be more time.
There will always be days you're burning at both ends. Days you are the wax
not the wick. Deeply, breathe
and step lightly, the stones are loose here.
NOV PAD 2010 - day 9 (two for tuesday)
Labels: Apocalypse , breathe , burn out , fade away , life , life or death , Slow down , speed up , wax , wick
Blitz Poem
Got this Idea from Robert Brewer's Poetry Asides and tweaked it a bit to work for me...
It's sketchy at best...I mean I finished it earlier today on my last break...so, let me know:
It Opposite Death
For the ladies,
for the hell of it!
“It just happens sometimes…”
“It just went that way…”
Way we might have gone;
way of our fists.
Fisting my way through life,
fists clenched.
Clenching muscles, cramped.
Clenching, grinding teeth.
Teeth, forced smile.
Teeth chemically altered white.
White masked malignant,
white walls.
Walls, in an ever shrinking box;
walls padded and restraining.
Restraining order;
restraining our hands.
Hands: scarred and peeling.
Hands: out, open, upturned…
Upturned life,
upturned and carefully chaotic.
Chaos in the middle of order.
Chaotic designed survival.
Outsurviving the fittest,
Survival against the odds.
Odd, that we have turned to this…
Odd, that I am me not we…
We are, that, which we are not…
We diverge on forked paths;
paths cemented in bones,
paths of which only our strides are aware;
aware that we are moving,
aware that any moment we could stop:
Stop pretending.
Stop breathing.
Breathing in slow and deliberate.
Breathing out shaky and shallow.
Shallow thoughts lead to empty plans.
Shallow dreams lead to empty hearts.
Heart un-begrudging its beating.
Heart fortified for fighting.
Fighting: because we were born brandishing tiny fists.
Fighting: because we don’t know a better way to survive.
Survive another sunset.
Survive because the only other option is death…
Death, because you stood too still;
death because you were too scare to move.
Moving
Still…
Labels: dying , fighting , fists , life or death , living , move , Stagnant , stand still