When it derails

continued wonderings in attempted verse TW: dark thoughts

Light, as we are
how could people possibly be
as beautiful as the rain
lighting the backs of so many eyes
filtering the shuttered lens of life
maybe things aren't as bad as they seem

how could a flawless face seem
as radiant as a fire
lighting the darkness as
chemical reactions beseech wood for warmth
maybe things aren't as muted as they seem

how could the perfect shell appear
as elaborate as the sky
lighting the planet to seasons
and capturing the similes of hearts
maybe things aren't as gone as they seem

how could man destroy
what all was declared good
the rain may leave, the sky could fade,
but one thing will remain:
the world will end in fire
things are not as eternal as they seem

It's just
it's just a day
for them, anyway
it could be all, for you
it's just a feeling
the pain, the reeling
there's nothing they could do
it's just
it's just... it's not
it's nothing and everything
all wrapped in a silvery box
condensed to a thick, sticky slurry
seeping out from the corners
it's too much and never
never there,
never just
it's all for you; don't think
it's everything, you might sink
it's broken and torn
before you were born
it was meant to be
so build your boat of scraps
the pain, thrown in for fre
enjoy the just
if you want it to be
it's just

the loud
torture, it is
the extent of it all,
waiting for the next drop
to fall
knowledge, it is
the awareness of noise
as if hearing was ever
a choice
incarceration, it is
the inescapable
lost in massive extent,
but irreplaceable
too much, it is
the all of everything,
yet beautiful and immovable
more than anything

Age
the paint is peeled back
in a grandmother's fraying voice
as she sings to the child in her arms
coaxing, shushing, lulling her
to sleeps soft silk
a scythe gleams in the corner of her eye
she continues yet the lullaby
rocking, swaying, comforting her
her opposite, her inverse, unaware
"sleep now my love, as darkness waits
a light of my love, shone in the wake
be still now, my love, you will not make
a sound again till morning breaks"
the paint is stripped more
with every shared breath,
two hearts, by chance or fate aligned
beating, hoping, living
but one will not awake
never to sing her lull anymore
until the new morning breaks

Clipped loons
catching a fish
to save it from drowning
hooking its esophagus
and reeling it in
removing what's dangerous
now it cannot swim

clipping a birds wings
so it wouldn't fall
removing its freedom
and trapping it here
dimensions to flee from,
the air, no more near

denaturing creatures
is nothing to win
so why have they stolen
my sword and my pen?

Upon returning
reentering a home
opening curtains, flipping switches
something is amiss
not broken enough but
resembling petrichorical foundings
a sick, unrepaired wound
of nostalgia

time had moved on
but so had the leader
just, in unparallel ways
the dust had not amounted, but
something was left
to open the rusty gates
of nostalgia

the frightening smell of
life left untouched for days
must be aired out with the mildew
the tracks will never be resoldered
but the train continues
carrying the heavy cargo
of nostalgia