Relative Something

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.

light rain
far from over
useless art
painted softly
mixed with time
under eaves
where leaves pile up
for days and a year
stretched tight
in a frame
a portrait
that captures
an edge of the wall
a pattern
of stain
a lifetime
of tears

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don’t, don’t
utter the phrase
that shrieks like fingernails
scratching the chalk board
don’t waste the energy
of hurting our ears
with unbelievable ideas
even ones you actually believe
…there’s no shame
in learning
how wrong you’ve been
since that time you were only 5
feeling free to be happy
with life
before discovering
the art of being hate-filled
claiming to know
who deserves to be alive
but look how far you’ve come
won’t all your ancestors be proud
you’ve taken on their secreted sickness
blithely blathering its venom
out loud

.

.

why oh why
with all that I try
to see, be, say and do
must the peace that I seek
wander so far away
toward things I never listened for before
while the peace that I keep
and which dwells in me deep
knows too well
everything’s swell
until eventually someone gets hurt

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sick silent subtlety
soothes the pain of knowing
what really was meant
by the offhand remark
nailed to the wall
in weak attempt
to appear above the thrash
yet reveals nothing less
than the very shortcomings
thus intended to mask
it is the high art of hurt
on the tight rope of sanity
served with aplomb

.

.

Late to the grasp
of anything
significant
yet simple
like a day
with no wind at all
completely still
in defiance of reason
it becomes
as if
understanding
anything else
at all
will never be
enough
to ever
catch up

.

.

confusion floats
can you feel it?
all the colors
masquerade as sounds
little reasons
rolling on the ground
all the castles burning
bright lights shining down
answers everywhere
just unmatched
to the many smells around
as if we’ve known it all
but kept it secret
from ourselves all along
while some have found an answer
by accepting all the chaos
with expectant nonchalance
never fearing for the worst
as if witch trials never happened
nor slavery either, too
we carry on oblivious
wondering what there is to do
never having learned a way
to speak of things taboo

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