Little Voices in My Head

Writing at 3am is always the best time. Almost no one dares bug you. However, the telemarketer from Pakistan who called me in the middle of this opus whom I yelled at in French, um…sorry dude, you didn’t deserve to be called the son of a **** ******* *****. That was just Leroy talking. He gets moody. On with the show!

The Eyes Have It

I’ve seen a hurricane
blow fierce and passionate
only to die a sudden death
as the eye passes over
a calm
so still
pins don’t seem to drop
at all
but pause
midair
waiting
as if dead
the ferryman not paid to carry them
Then the winds pick up again suddenly with hate filled fury so strong no mortal dare stand in their wake

I’ve seen the sun warm frost laden fields
of clover
coaxing blooms to
unfurl
only to burn them to ash
by noon
with her zealous rays

I swam the span of a lake
once
so clear
I could see the log-littered bottom
fifty meters below my toes
yet when I plunged just ten feet down
a current took me so swift
it stole the breath from my lungs
and felt as if it would
wrench
my soul
from my heart

I knew a man so handsome
enchanted frogs gave up the kissing game on sight
He knew his lines
delivered them well
and kept up the façade
yet when the scenery crumbled
and the costumes and makeup
washed away
the monster
appeared in his place
at center stage
and blow by bloody blow
he decimated the princess
without conscious thought

Yet I’ve seen the weak
rise
to help those thought strong.
I’ve seen the meek
shout
to defend the helpless.
I’ve witnessed the arrogant
cowed
by the most humble.

The squall, the sun, the lake, the man;
they are wilds
that cannot be tamed.

The weak, the meek, the humble…

My hope.