Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.137.222.1
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
We were bloody.
Bearing the weight 
of a gaping moon like 
young Titans- 
full of arrogant imagination. 
We ran, hellbent.
House after house
playing tricks- 
casting spells with 
veracious foolishness. 
That first pumpkin was 
my stepfather. I watched 
as his carved out grimace 
became the nothingness 
I was determined to fill with 
chaos. 
I screamed the lyrics to our 
favorite Hatebreed song down
every street. Letting the Universe 
know that no matter how insignificant 
the World thought we were. 
We would be heard. 
All of us, brothers. 
Bound by dark matter-
the silent replies to our
prayers that we'd never 
admit to sending out;
Together we didn't need
Him, The Devil, or anyone else. 
We were fearless, because we had 
each other. And the might of bond,
not in blood shared, but spilled as one. 
Parents tried to chase us.
Reign us in. 
We laughed and taunted-
swinging our pillowcases 
full of savory sin with a sense 
of joy that only a lost boy could
even begin to understand. 
Hands covered in slime, and seed
thundered together and sent out our 
cacophony of delight as I tipped over 
the HOA's Porta Potty. 
Red and blue lights flash. 
Someone has had enough.
We escape into the woods. 
Sit on the edge of Willow Creek,
and light up a bowl of dirt weed. 
The creek was shallow that year.
But, our hearts could fill it up;
All that life pulsing, racing through
our ephemeral- jack'-o-lantern husks. 
Smoke signals went up that night.
As we exhaled our silent melancholy. 
I think we all had some sort of hope
there, in that place. That our rage 
would be sated. That we would be
enough to keep each other safe from 
what we could already sense 
was encircling us. 
We never wore masks.
Not until we got older, grew apart. 
And began to see we had to hide 
that primal nature inside ourselves to 
keep the moon from breaking our 
backs. Because, we don't have 
each other for that anymore. 
But, I'm pulling mine off tonight. 
Have a good look- 
The scars. The worry lines. 
The bloodshot eyes. 
That same grimace I tried to destroy-
lighting up the room as if it were 
carved to scare you away. 
But I am no totem.
No walking masquerade to incite 
any sort of terror, or joy for that matter. 
I’m just another pumpkin head; candle 
dwindling. 
Waiting to be smashed. 
-James Kelley 2018
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required