Marianas Trench

It’s the way you hide

In the fire of a wood burning stove

All your passion’s laughter

Fall inside an ember

Trying to make a memory

With no recourse or action

Failing to remember, no recollection after

What it’s like to be alone

The sound of church bells ringing

And a light that slowly fades

To dream about you in later days

Waiting for that, which cannot stay

Never and far away

©️ The Sad Owl

All of the Stars

My heart fell deeply

Into an abyssal drop

Kettle with an abysmal top

Boils over

With no one left to hold the warmness of all I am up

Hold my hands together, to pray and just for what

Cold inside my chest, I rub vigorously at a hollow cage

Warm inside my cheeks, a foreheads wrinkled rage

With age I have found peace, fire doused by the water of life 

Waves come in and just release, the sun is never hot at night

And the knife, buried deep inside the sand becomes brittle glass

As if to return to the only earth it knows, twist and turn till at last

Nightmares in desert winds have nothing to howl against

From whence

Why? Hold in false pretense

The apple of my eye

Oasis in the dust

Fresh springs off the river run through rock

So pure and delicious

In the heat I had my wishes

But the steam is running out

And your skins’ complexion no longer shines

Like the stars at night, or the sun in the sky

Another star is born, to shine its light and die

© The Sad Owl

Blossom

In amity, to hold on with longanimity

Light pink turns red

A clear tear can appear blue 

A bright fire can turn to sapphire

Cold and without feeling

Stay with me, I can’t believe the past becomes reality

While I remain presently in disbelief

A heavy sigh with no retake

Breath held to prevent a future, drowning in the same sorrow

Tomorrow only varies from today, slightly ever so

Leaves green turn to gold, red, and ash into snow 

Seasons pass and soon we go

To new places, see new faces

Time changes as it all ages

Photographs will keep your smile uncreased

Until they are folded over, forgotten

© The Sad Owl

Loves me Not (part 2)

Why was it that as my life grew happier, fuller, fulfilled and answered for

That I thought to question about you

Inquiries of a random passing by conversation 

Of no relation to my bountiful inundation 

Made me want to swim back to the surface

A breath of fresh air that once seemed worthless

Became a wind that could carry your words

So few and so precious

As ash that was once flesh is

©️ The Sad Owl

Back to New York

Stuck in the middle of Nevada

Neon fish in the sky, flashing lights

The yellow cab pulled up in a blur

I said goodbye to my best friend

I think he kissed me on the lips

Or maybe I just imagined it

Men never say I love you before goodbye or after

Even on drugs

What a crazy night to have run away from home

And an even stranger time to feel so alone

© The Sad Owl

Sun Dried

Endearing

In the dark fearing

Hands of the clock stop

So minute, fragile and falling

Like the length of a hair stretched to its end

Broken and holding onto the faintest scent


So quiet like a ghostly whisper calling

Asking how was our time before then

Taken with the wind where it went



The way you sit in the moonlight

And glow brighter than the stars at night

Gone now with the days like my dreams

©  The Sad Owl

Breaking The Habit

Ad infinitum a never ending sequence

Lying in the wake of repetition; habitual frequence

To wonder predictably all the same things is the unconscious

Dauntless and diving, freefall thoughts thriving; to want, I want this

Faultless and driving, the sea calls out trying; a wave, reaches for the sky

..

The heavens sit not on clouds but seafoam, heavily salinated and floating

A sea for the dead with white haze, bubbles that carry earthly desire; doting

The angels walk on water by no miracle and wash their feet

The rough callous scrubbed off falls back down as sleet

A little taste of heaven from the snowflake on my tongue

..

An only partially formed thought of the unknown is still no answer

I stir the ice in my glass, rejoice in the sound and quench my thirst

If I wait too long the ice melts and the glass overflows

Sometimes I have too many questions and too much imagination 

I need to know or at the very least, I want to know

..

Thinking about winter on an autumn day I thought about the leaves

So I tried to catch one on my tongue, a fiery red mischief o’ertook me

A sieve as I sifted through black earth for gold, a thought for thieves 

I was supposed to be raking of course but the taste was so earthly 

All the beautiful colors of autumn that I had piled up, stolen

Jumping in I thought that I would be transported to another world

But at last, we are never anywhere but here. 

..

I flipped on the TV and put the dried leaves of tobacco in a pipe

Truth be told, I never smoked before that day; never in my life 

Was this the allure of hell? I thought. Sun-dried leaves picked by poor commoners

Somewhere warm was a man with dark skin and a gold tooth, smiling. 

People just trying to get by day by day, doing the same things day after day.

A whole lifetime toiling, always in the same place with the same people and the same city 

And for others, the same hours, the same lunchtime and the same vacations 

To the same places where the same people who picked the same tobacco leaves would meet these same people

Is that sane? I thought, in some world it is.

I couldn’t do it any longer, as I coughed out the smoke from this terrible tasting experience

I had decided that it was time to break the habit.

©️ The Sad Owl

Silence is a Song

No music and no silhouettes, closing your eyes to find that peaceful sound of nothing at all. No images, no words to describe the surroundings or any figures, just nothing. Gentle breezes may whistle gently across the inner lobes of your ears and bounce off the prominence of your tragus to create a vacuum effect when it gets more violent, but this is still silence. The motion of the wind can also guide the direction of other things like the rain gently rapping at your open window. It gently taps as if to get your attention and although it is audible to you and even though your eyes are closed, you can still clearly see the image of those drops slowly descending to the window sill where it accumulates into its own small river flowing over the edge. This is in fact still silence.

As the grey clouds shift above and all the old aches and pains begin to throb, your body signalling the incoming storm, this too is silence. As you lie down to rest this weary body, wordless. The thoughts that cloud your mind as you try to resolve them with your inner voice speaking is too, silent. As you come to terms with the problems and obstacles that you face and decide that they are best left as tomorrow’s endeavor and your breathing steadies, you inevitably drift off into the dreams that spring forth from your subconscious. People you have met, things you have done and haven’t materialize before you. Words are clearly spoken and odd conversations take place that are either misconstrued memories, new and enlightening or pure nonsense. You could very well witness a duck that barks like a german shepard, or trees with no birds that still chirp and with all these sounds and images set before you, they are all in fact still silent as you breathe a steady rhythm with your eyes closed. Imperceptible to you is your soft snore that sometimes grows audibly loud, but not to you. The thunderstorm outside that has failed to wake you joins your labored breathing from the dream turned nightmare where a man in a bunny costume is chasing you through the woods as you yell for help, the reality that you cannot perceive around your still body is silence and to all others, your cries for help fall silent. It is quiet both inside and out.

The storm in all its majesty with loud commanding cracks that separate the sky. Torrential rains that fall relentless and seemingly never ending. They too shall pass. Like a song for all the things we hold inside that eventually come pouring out. It was as you lay there in tears wide awake, the muffled tones of your own cries let out as you tried to hold them back with a hand by your mouth. The mix of saliva and salty tasting nasal drip became your sound reasoning for finally letting out something akin to howling. There was never anybody to hear you but hearing yourself seemed far too horrifying. Was it not peaceful this silence? Was it not healing, demanding then frantic and finally disabling? Was it too much of nothing?

Finally you sleep, so serene in a dream, the dry pillars of salt push your lower eyelids up as you no longer have the weight of the world holding them down, the cloudiness and confusion wait to see the light as even dark clouds grow only to dissolve. For a moment in the dissonant solo that preceded, you could never tell that this was the encore for silence. A small clap emerged to congratulate you in your dreams and aspirations, for finally achieving internal peace and with tomorrow, words that would create their own song and harmony. The track that is silence can be one that is repeated and no one would ever know. Among all the chaos in this world it can be hard to hear sometimes.

© The Sad Owl

Fantasize

Often with a pair of headphones on, I will sit in this room listening to oft-melancholic music. Strange for someone that has been referred to as having accomplished so much and revered for both my so-called patience and calmness. I’m not sure whether my time spent gathering knowledge has been an endeavor well sought or if I have simply only created leeway in which others may possibly benefit from my insights, none of my time is ever saved in this process [by the way]. This is probably pretty confusing so far and I apologize insincerely for that. Most things I find beautiful are misconstrued and for that reason I ask that you wait a moment and allow the nature of this structure to simply settle.

Right. Here’s the thing, I don’t even know you but I can already say that I don’t love you anymore. Don’t be hurt though, when was it that I loved you anyways, right?

Wrong. I think you know when. From the very beginning I heard you take a breath, inhale and then exhale very quietly and I was wondering if you were at peace. With a breath that shallow could I ever love you? I wondered. Strangely, when I asked if you were at peace the breadth of your lungs seemed to expand with new depth and dimension, that’s when I saw all the room left. Such an immense capacity you have and that’s when I thought you could surely hold me there too. It was then, I’m sure of it. You were with me from the very beginning, almost startling.

So why don’t I love you anymore? That’s a good question. See it’s just a feeling. Like the hair at the very beginning of its follicle, the root of the problem. It’s that stiff-end that you brush through and even if you shave it all off it will still grow just a little, wax and shine it if you must but really, it will always come back just a little even if you tried all the aforementioned. Yes, I think that is a good way to analogize it, it will always be there. Words can be elongated into elegant sentences, humorous and catchy, you can grow them out but somehow never erase them completely and that is the very crux of this automaton relation that we are forming. I don’t want to always just be there. I wanted something… a little longer, you know? Maybe you don’t. Dreams are often fleeting and when I dreamt of your heart I could see your face. Now I’m the shallow one, a second so fulfilling is a long time after all.

I know, maybe you love me too. It’s hard to say what love is exactly. Sometimes I think it’s just when my heart beats a little faster or I start to feel a bit anxious. Sometimes I tap my foot rapidly but don’t tell anybody. In case you don’t drink coffee, that’s what it feels like when you have really good coffee. If you’re ever in town would you care for a cup? This time I’m being sincere. I don’t love you anymore so it’s just not like that and I think that makes for really good conversation. I already know that I am going to love speaking with you because words can be hurtful and bring tears to my eyes, so even if you choose to say those kinds of things, they’re just words. At least empty words, they don’t mean anything because I’m still lying and anything of an untrue nature simply doesn’t exist. That’s probably why I say maybe so often because it may be that. Dreams are just that aren’t they?

What did I mean by that? Well… that’s a not-so good kind of question about being fanciful and misleading. I’m going to be very serious now. You are — hard. Anatomically you are simply a wondrous design, to be alive and perhaps not so well, difficult at times and it’s really you that puts the meaning behind every word you say. When I dreamt of you, we were just talking casually but each second longer was additive to just how profound the same things you repeated became until I could really hear your voice. The expressions stopped being mismatched with the vocals proceeding and when I could see you, that was beautiful. The color in your face reflected the laughter, disapproval and suffocation of such words from me to you. I couldn’t help but smile and think, isn’t this wonderful? You and I, having this conversation about whether or not we loved each other and yet we don’t even know one another. So tell me, could it be that love exists or it just words and make-believe?

© The Sad Owl