Beneath Unseen Things

Under the willow roots

A skeleton lays, looking up,

Wondering what it means

That he cannot be known.

All the living things

Above the surface earth

Perceive their present moments

Unaware of what’s below.

An impaled heart

Over which the willow weeps,

And dusty bones

Snuggled firmly in the dirt.

Unbroken silence,

The tree’s buried shelter

For secrets of its regions

That no one could know.

Dirt for the dead,

Commotion for the living,

Hollowness to follow,

Vacancy of thought.

Lovers, ash to dust,

Marrow is to bark.

Love without a light

To illumine what they are.

 

For No One To Find

When you can casually bleed

While your psyche screams,

Congratulations,

No one else will ever see.

Your imprisoned esteem

Only needs to breathe

Once in a while

To keep from getting free.

At persona’s relieve

Feel free to release

In humbled bursts

What trembles underneath.

As awful it seems,

It’s only a need

Left unsatisfied

By conventional means.

Carry on incomplete

In your vital deceit

Until maybe one day

You’ll be eased.

 

Living With Hell

Reality was harsh

Recognition was worse

Revelation was unbearable.

 

I could find truth

I could accept myself with it

But I couldn’t relate it to anyone.

 

I could argue

And I could explain

But never enough to satisfy.

 

I could relax

And I could let it go

But it couldn’t ever leave me.

 

I want to be real

To be honest and understood

But I’ve learned not to expect it.

 

I learned to stay quiet

To hide behind an empty face

But I can’t always help it.

 

I need to let it out

But I know there’ll be pain.

So much held back for so long,

And I know it’s gonna be Hell.