Our society has drifted away from the truth—
not all at once, not with a shout,
but like a shoreline loosening grain by grain
into a patient, swallowing sea.
We learned to soften the edges of what we know,
to wrap the blade of fact in velvet tongues,
to smile as we swallowed splinters,
calling it grace, calling it peace.
The more dangerous it is to speak it,
the more it hums beneath the ribs—
a live wire, a held breath,
a pulse that will not consent to quiet.
We have seen mouths close like doors in a storm,
seen eyes turn away from the naked shape of things,
as if truth were a body left out in winter,
too stark to touch, too human to claim.
And Justice—
we were told she was blind,
but I have felt her hand:
it is not blind, it is heavy,
it is cold as iron left in the dark.
Justice is a cruel hard hand
that cannot ever keep it—
truth slips through her fingers
like water through a fist,
like a name forgotten at the moment of need.
And still, somewhere,
in the quiet between heartbeats,
truth waits—
not kind, not gentle,
but alive,
and asking now to be spoken.
Tonight Chumki drifts to a gentle sleep,
And with her the poems their silence keep.
No murmur of verses, no whisper of rhyme,
The hours move slowly, unmeasured by time.
The stars look down with a softened gaze,
Darkness enfolds in its velvet haze.
No chatter of stanzas, no lyrical sound,
Only the hush of the night all around.
Dreams weave quietly in silver streams,
Guarding the doorway to tender dreams.
The restless lines lie still and deep,
For even the muses have gone to sleep.
Yet in the silence, a promise lies near,
That dawn will awaken the songs we revere.
When Chumki wakes, her smile will rise,
And poems will flutter once more to the skies.
With these rings, we said, "I do,"
Never planned to play the fool.
Too young to grasp loves weight,
Too blind to heed its rules.
We were D—drifting, never devoted.
We were I—insensible, inconsiderate.
We broke our Vows, splintered trust.
We were O—reckless, outrageous.
We were R—tangled, bitter root.
We were C—careless, never committed.
We were E—estranged, unraveling fast.
A word we swore would never be ours
became the silent sentence:
Divorce.
Too immature for love’s responsibility,
we fled into goodbye.
The long-drawn-out throb of my core,
Mounting up my red lane,
It is so cold, my eyes are all sore
My atonements have been in bane,
One swell of solecism
Exonerating mine deeds unfeasible to deem,
My soul cries to death
My beautiful dreams drifted.
He drifted through cursed solitude
Like the blowing branches belonging to weeping willow
When all of a sudden, he spotted a multitude
A swarm of singing sparrows
Chirping in delight, cleaning their ruffling feathers
Under the shelter of his neighboring brothers
How numerous in flight they were
As constellations shimmering in clear dark skies
In infinite array he saw them stir
Across the horizon with hopeful cries
Thousands, upon thousands, to count in a second
A joyous sight that nature had beckoned
Flying above torrential waters that billow below
Into realms of bountiful bliss on high
Happiness overcame that weeping willow
For they took away his dismal sighs
The old man looked and looked but failed to see
What treasure the playful children did bring
Till past reflection from deeper thought
Bought from a perception taken
An attitude at last he willingly sought
To enjoy a feeling formerly forsaken
And then his soul was free from sorrow
To soar amongst the singing sparrows
The wind, careless in its airy freedom,
Feverishly furrows the prairie grass.
With a cry like a lost spirit, it winds
And wails through leafless trees and toothless fence
To vent its eager force upon the boards
Of a lonely, weather-beaten farmhouse.
Afternoon sun shines ashen and mottled,
In slim slanting shafts, through a smoky pane,
Opaquely painting a penumbral room.
Dust motes dance before an empty stone hearth.
A man, like a silent sentinel, sits
Dreamless, and loveless, between the bare walls.
Wearily wringing his wrinkled thin hands,
He sloughs his solitary years away,
Staring sleeplike out an open screen door
Where stands a windmill, in still-life, framed.
Tumbleweeds pile against the west house wall;
And a plough lies broken in drifted sand.
Conversation has sadly ran dry
All hope is fading
We barely speak to one another
Girl, why are we masquerading?
We need to open up
This eliminates the bad air
Obscurity has reared its ugly head
These dark clouds need to disappear
Soft
A space
Between the
Spaces where I find
You, breathless ... broken
Bare and beautied
Upon your reef
I am bound
In ruin.
Stoic,rigid,loving still.
Shaken,pulled,standing still.
Troubled, down-trodden,trusting still.
Broken,torn,firm still.
Tortured,violated,winning still.
Lacking, pauper,fulfilling still.
Aimless,wandering, covered still.
Woebegone,saddened, hopeful still.
Incapacitated, challenged,contributing still.
Obscure,wretched,worthy still.
Mirage,vague,concrete still.
Cajoled,swindled,resourceful still.
All of these,many are being drifted.
The swerving sea weeds,all likened to.
One position,yet another,moved.
Their imbalanced state,amidst .
Sea weeds sprout largely
with tentacles spread across
and bases firmly rooted in the sea.
Dreams drifted me off
Reality left behind
Endless freedom found!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 March 2017
Drifted deep in wintry dark
she's in decline, as useless
as a sailboat in a storm.
Once a haven for hikers,
a shelter for stalwarts and strays
'til the mountains gave summons;
now forlorn and disregarded,
like a maiden aunt too old and to no purpose,
though winsome in her former days
when she was quite the prize,
the belle of every ball, envied by all.
"If those walls could only speak!" they say,
as they quickly pass on by,
not giving her a second glance.
Drifted deep in wintry dark
she's in decline, as useless
as a sailboat in a storm.
Once a haven for hikers,
a shelter for stalwarts and strays
'til the mountains gave summons;
now forlorn and disregarded,
like a maiden aunt too old and to no purpose,
though winsome in her former days
when she was quite the prize,
the belle of every ball, envied by all.
"If those walls could only speak!" they say,
as they quickly pass on by,
not giving her a second glance.
Drifted deep in wintry dark
she's in decline, as useless
as a sailboat in a storm.
Once a haven for hikers,
a shelter for stalwarts and strays
till the mountains gave summons,
now forlorn and disregarded,
like a maiden aunt too old and to no purpose,
though winsome in her former days
when she was quite the prize,
the belle of every ball, envied by all.
"If those walls could speak!" they say
as they quickly pass on by,
never giving her a second glance.
Drifted deep in wintry dark
she's in decline, as useless
as a sailboat in a storm.
Once a haven for hikers,
a shelter for stalwarts and strays
'til the mountains gave summons;
now forlorn and disregarded,
like a maiden aunt too old and to no purpose,
though winsome in her former days
when she was quite the prize,
the belle of every ball, envied by all.
"If those walls could only speak," they say,
as they quickly pass on by,
not giving her a second glance.
You promised you loved me with all of your heart,
I wish I knew it was all lies from the start.
My hearts scared from being broken and bruised,
From being cheated on, lied to, and used.
Crying myself to sleep many nights cause you were home,
Leaving me feeling unimportant, unloved, and alone.
We were once Bonnie and Clyde and all you needed was me,
Now I know I wasn't enough to make you happy.
The us that was once one has now become two,
How can you hurt someone who loves you.
From the beginning I was the glue that bonded what we had,
You took me for granted and made me feel bad.
When it comes to me you've always put me last,
But I've always put you first in the present, future and past.
My tears I've cried are for your attention and touch,
With you not being here has made me miss you so much.
Love is about the act not always what you say
You need to learn that and live by this way.
February 09, 2012
~The One and Only~
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