Prodigal

(i'm taking an Imitations class in which we write poems in the styles of various famous poets. this week is alexander pope. basically, heroic couplets — iambic pentameter and exact rhyming.)

We walk the high road with no earthly care,
Defenseless to the frigid mountain air.
We took for granted skin, teeth, flesh, and bone,
Right up until we found that they were gone.
Now all that we have left are threadbare souls
With frozen breezes wafting through the holes.
So, deep in rapturous prayer, we walk and wait,
Exhausted, sightless, for the word of fate.
All our mistakes we lose and leave behind.
They spring up in our footsteps, curled and twined.
We must seem solemn to the passers-by,
Our pale and ghostly forms strange to their eye.
One asks us, "Travelers, have you lost your way?"
But no; we have no path from which to stray.
Their voices fade as we keep on our climb.
We lose their memory like we lose the time
To distant purposes that drive us on.
Our fathers said they'd meet us in the dawn.
There, all the chill of night will come undone;
So we must climb until we find the sun.

ode to my favorite techie (the somewhat less sucky version)

you know, we're not so different, you and i,
you with your friend, and me back here with mine,
though in your eyes, i see a cloudless sky,
and in your eyebrows, that metallic shine;

but i see, too, the smile you throw at him,
the kind of smile that makes him lean on you;
you look as happy as you've ever been,
but i can see that this is nothing new —

that you two are the greatest kind of friends,
the kind who love to keep each other safe,
who've been together back since god knows when
and always know exactly what to say;

i turn and lean my head on my friend's back.
i hope that someday, we can be like that.

riding on the metro (sonnet IV)

i haven't smiled this much since god knows when.

oh dearest, how i love to see you break.

i want to snap your fingers one by one 

and swoon at every anguished cry you make.

i almost feel sorry for your veins.

they're turning into dust before your eyes.

oh, if i could, i'd force-feed you your pain,

but oh, how sweetly i'd kiss you goodbye.

you've gone through every single drug you own.

since august, all you think about is death.

but august was a full three months ago.

i've waited long enough for your last breath.

i've hidden all the answers that you seek.

now your forever's only one more week.

sonnet III

i liked last night, for all its heavy storms,
while i held you like my own lucky charm;
i did my very best keep you warm,
though freezing rain collected in our arms;

and there are days i don't know what to say,
so i just waver, struck dumb by your smile;
but when it's midnight, we forget those days,
and we just stand there, silent for a while;

the silhouettes of trees were bright and clear,
while you were shaking in the cloudy chill;
i thought, "these angry nights give us such fear."
and wished you'd be content to just stand still;

because there was lightning flashing in the sky,
but i saw fireflies flashing in your eyes.

burning insides (this is one more sonnet)

The bible-burning rite leaves me inside,
With pages flying out the windowsill;
There's no place for this golden cross to hide,
So I'll ascend atop the burning hill.

As I draw close, I feel my insides freeze
Against the sour flame of burning books;
The soldiers seem to smile with such great ease;
Pretending is much harder than it looks.

I feel that some small part of me is dead:
I'm folding nothing into pleated squares
While demons crawl and sleep inside my head;
The ship is going down, still spouting flares.

They're burning God beneath a screaming sky.
I fall to ashes as the embers fly.