Best Visionarysun Poems
“God bless us all when the door is shut behind us,
only then will we breathe our first breath,
and awake
from the long dream…”
Forging past the indisputable summit onto the
shelf of the perfect medium (ah, ‘tis noble here!)
he sits, contemplating his balance. He does not sweat.
The winds breath breaks upon his predestined neck,
bestowing the gift of lily white scent upon a lapel that’s
stiff, yet pliable – just stiff enough. A 72 degree sun
shines its neutrality, (fueling his desire for nothing at all,
just the concept of sun giving heat, like a heartbeat,
unnoticed in its certainty) upon his stagnant face.
He is wearing his favorite pants (soft, worn jeans with
a little give, but not enough so that he forgets to hold
in his stomach), and from the ample pocket, he takes
an apple. It is a Red Delicious. Not quite living up to its
name, but unassuming and secure in its redness – he eats.
It’s not the best apple he’s ever had, but its good enough.
The vultures, native to this coveted desert waste circle,
vying for the core of his Non-Delicious, yet edible fruit.
And as he Bites into the last white taste of just fine, a glint
of sunlight flashes briefly – like infinity within dreams,
off of the vultures black eyes. And all at once he knows –
everything is. The death birds orbit the terracotta desert
peek (red and inviting in its dry and unforgiving reality),
the bird turns away so fast after catching his eye,
he forgets that he’d ever seen its pulsing recognition.
The forgettable sunset mollifies him - sedates him,
pacifying his every forgettable non-movement.
It is then, when the last dripping light of day descends
behind the obvious rock mount; the definite edge
of darkness falls. Shadows creep slowly and quickly
across the terrestrial rock spine, (engulfing its redness
in its totality) leaving just the remnants of burgundy
skin between yellowing teeth, and a deafening black desert.
As the sound of raucous wings and ripping jeans dominates
the guttural desert - the vultures take their coveted prize.
*Reposted for Deborah's Something Wicked This Way Comes, Wickedness Contest. :)
May 22
I was sitting in my backyard tonight
watching the sun set.
The moon was out and there was one star,
one bright star sitting above the western horizon.
As the sun began to set
it got colder,
but it was a good kind of cold.
Not the kind of coldness
that reaches into my bones
and leaves me shivering.
It just settles on my skin
and slowly burns away.
A man leaps from a tower’s edge
And plummets to the street;
His eyes are closed as he descends;
It’s such a daring feat!
He’s been in training all his life
For such a time as this;
He couldn’t even start to think
That maybe he might miss.
“I’ve worked too hard to give up now;
It’s either fly or die.
If I don’t make it here and now,
At least I made a try.”
He sees the sun begin to break
Into its morning light,
Exploding all throughout the sky
To dissipate the night.
“It’s such a pretty sight to see,
And maybe it’s a sign;
‘Cause if the sun is coming out,
Then maybe I can shine.”
He then begins to clench his fists,
And pull his arms inside;
And then he starts to invocate
And all his fears subside.
“So, this is it; the time has come,”
He mumbles in his breath;
“If I don’t make it here and now,
Then I’ll encounter death.”
He feels his back begin to tear
And rip along the spine;
It sparks a pain that no one else
On Earth could e’er define.
His fists are tightened harder now
As he begins to scream;
But as the blood is dripping down,
He forms a set of wings.
The wingspan reaches far enough
To stop him in the air;
The pristine feathers radiate
An incandescent flare.
A smile begins to formulate
As he begins to fly;
And all it took was willingness
To just give it a try.