A fuzzy piece of my heart on four legs:
My sincerest apologies to all readers for my verbosity in this post; a picture is worth a thousand words. The funny part is I can’t even remember whether we gave away this cat, or he ran away, or he died. I miss him though.
Hello Airplane, hello beautiful,
Going away together sounds wonderful.
I won’t miss Canadian slush,
Or mud, I won’t miss it much.
Hello Air France, I’ve waited,
So long, half-agitated,
Wanting to escape certain parts,
Of my life, like starstruck hearts.
Hello handsome method of escape,
Let’s go, I can’t wait!
I’m not going to miss lame classes,
Full of peers acting like ______.
Hello you sexy beast of a plane,
With engines powerful, but tame.
Take me up in your wings so steady,
Let’s hit the air, you ready?
Hello my beautiful Air France,
I’m thanking you in advance,
For time away from memory,
And time in a legit family.
I mosey the cluttered lanes with poetry.
Alone with lines of prose to comfort me.
I dare not look around my ankles,
At crumbling ground, trod by angels,
Soil sighing beneath cadavers,
Reincarnation won’t reimburse
The lives that fall away.
I’m all that’s left today.
“Keep walking, helping is coming,
Keep singing, laughing, humming.”
One foot in front of the other,
Wait for the sound of the trumpeter,
We shall not sleep, but be changed,
Into air, freely arranged.
In the twinkling of an eye,
I will breathe my final sigh.
Laughter will accompany my days henceforth,
Treading lanes of a pilgrimage north.
But until that day I might never see,
I’m bent on living my life completely.
In abundance, to the full, till it overflows,
Getting back up after the cruel blows
Thrown at me from every side.
The hell on earth which I abide.
My life is a raging battlefield,
But peace is on my shield,
Though I walk through the valley of death,
The air composed of final breaths,
I will walk on through the bodies,
Disregarding these robberies
From the bank of lives.
Death tries, almost deprives
Me of life but is unable.
My life cannot be fatal.
Life waits across the bridge of mortality,
Which I will strut in style and vitality.
I don’t know this bridge’s length,
But I do know my Lover’s strength.
That’s enough to carry me.
Through endless lanes that weary me.
I have more than my poetry,
A Protector close to comfort me.
My Dearest Galileo,
I know you. I recognize those brown pits of emotion which look at me, and leave me without any interpretation of them. I know the heart which resembles a wormhole in its ability to spew out galactic debris with no warning. We’ve always shared the capacity for blunt communication at the expense of tact, but I’ve chosen a different language to inform you of my atmospheric balance, and its need for tranquility.
I beseech you to disregard the gravitational pull you may feel when you are in my presence. If you’re travelling an elliptical circuit, and nearing my planet’s atmosphere unsteadies you, then I implore you: move on. Live your life, full of your dreams, your goals, your successes. If I have at any time brought you to the zenith of emotion, maybe my words could convince you to come back down.
I’m not heartless, just independent. I’m self-aware enough to realize I cannot handle my orbit being destabilized by the gravity of other planets passing by. In the name of grief, I’ve pushed the noises of the world farther away. It’s this centrifugal force which keeps me whole. It is not to be confused with egotism. This is my life. I don’t have the space for a relation-ship to come and land. My stoical exterior was broken by a meteorite recently, leaving a crater which I doubt will ever be filled in. The most I hope for is that over time this crater will be smoothed over. It’s too early to know if I’ve survived this astrobleme or not. My seismographs left for their Christmas vacation a day before I needed them.
I am beautiful. My presence is unfair to your insomniac tendency, Galileo. It’d be easier on both of us if you would put down your telescope. Think of me less often. Maybe to withdraw my paralyzing beauty from your susceptible eyes, I could hide behind a mirror. I would refract self-knowledge upon you. You would realize there are cataracts in your eyes, which are causing you to see bridges which aren’t there. Cease your salacious gazing at my corona. It’s God who crowned me with brilliance and glory. When you become blind you might realize it was a bad idea to stare at the sun. When helmet streamers colour your sky, protect yourself from the hazards of creation, by calling out to the Creator.
I know you like me. I understand. I applaud your excellent taste, but I don’t have the space for you. Go get your own space. This is mine. This centripetal force could be construed as self-centeredness, but it’s not. It’s self-preservation. For a while, I will remain at my apogee. I need to catch my breath before I traverse the spangled tapestry of relation-seeking.
Galileo, I implore you, don’t let your heliocentric view blind you.
The phrase “peace on earth” means more to me these days. Maybe it’s because I’ve realized it’s not a just a phrase. I’m hitting replay on this song again and again, because it brings me back to a month and a half ago when. my. life. was. perfect. I had three sisters, and all four of us were chilling downstairs. We were playing piano guitar, bongos, and singing, not thinking about waking up the parental units with a house that’s ringing. It’s this song we were playing, among other ones too, and we’d played it perfectly the first time through. The atmosphere felt like heaven, another dimension, of peace, without any strife or tension. That day was complete perfection. Becky told us, “You guys sound like angels. I bet this is what it’s like in heaven.” Except in heaven, it would last 24-7. The good things we have we could keep, but the gap between then and now is deep. Heaven is a long way off for me, at least, as far as I can see. Life could be over without a moment’s notice. The time we have here is just a bonus.