Brain Cancer
Who I am
I do not know,
for darkness lies
a blanket in my mind,
a shroud upon
the window to my soul.
My face unknown,
my name not called
and yet a sense of worth
escapes me not.
I am a man,
unknown to time,
existing only in my mind,
and with this thought
I am as naught,
but just a prisoner,
held in life,
consumed by death,
pitiless, yet pitied
by my peers,
unknown to me,
but not to he
who I should be.
Artistry
A chilling wind blows by outside.
Scattered gusts enter
the window of the small apartment,
fighting back the faint warmth
of a small radiant heater.
A young man stands behind his easel
reproducing the gaunt, hollow-eyed
skeletal figures
which attack him in his dreams.
Five floors below him
the people of the city
are just leaving work,
on their way home
from another day of
pushing papers at their desks.
He doesn’t notice.
The blues and blacks on the canvass
consume him.
A mouthful of coffee
helps him regain his perspective.
One step back, then
a swirl of the brush brings out
maroon figures dancing across
the bleak landscape, then
a streak of white for contrast.
Another pause, he tries
to see it like the viewer might.
He scratches his nose,
leaving a blue mark,
which matches the red one
he made an hour ago.
And as he works into the night,
the darkness on the canvass
begins to take shape,
becoming both his masterpiece and
his mirror.
Late Night Poet
The unrhymed rhythm
of the broken typewriter
echoes throughout the rooms
and disappears outside in the streets.
Gradually increasing the size
of the paper heap
beside him in the trashcan,
the young man finds himself
no closer to solving earthly mysteries
than he was this time last year.
Giving up on silence,
glaring at the noisy cat
which meowed its way
into the room a while ago,
he again hears words inside
his near-frustrated mind.
Somehow, though, paper
just doesn’t seem
to capture the effect.
In Tribute to a Graduating Class
Yesterday’s children, obscured from sight,
Burst up through time and into the light.
Stand amongst honor and take your bow.
Yesterday’s children have all grown up now.
Though years you’ve labored, toiled and strained,
Year after year you faced it again.
So now you are ready, stand up and cheer,
For now you’ve reached your final year.
Gone is your childhood, your happiest days.
You’re now prepared for life’s odd ways.
So stand and brave your finest hour,
Receive your diploma and take your flower.
Remember not your trials and tumults,
Look forward now, you are now young adults.
Dreams and Less
The sun goes down,
worlds darken.
Deep within
another tainted dream
I wander,
alone, with only
myself as companion.
Dusty hallways
fade in light.
Eerie screams
pierce tortured silence,
leaving only scattered bits
of broken dreams;
just memories.
