Tag Archives: poem

Sane

Call me crazy:

angels descended from above me
and i could breathe for the first time as they
died

the first word spoken that day–
apocalypse–
singular to me (“one”)

sole familiars dispersed dust reigns
underfoot
i could only stare 
/trying/ to translate the deaths between

each pause for a new sentence,
pagan-word-witchcraft-sorcery to bring some sense
back to corpses so-no-more-lone-words
dare escape between my teeth–

convey understand wanting to spill over masses
but still
(unsure) what if (no one listens) what
then (will i become an

angel)?

-Mien

Bargain

Once I died and met Death at his doorstep, clothed in ethereal white light. He opened the door after I had rung the doorbell six times, as was instructed when I was breathing my last. In my fists were two silver coins which I had plucked from my closed eyelids, ready to be released to whatever fate-after-death I was entitled to. They had thought perhaps I could bribe my way out of an eternity of hell for one silver coin, then buy my way back to life with the other.

Death, of course, knew and understood my–and their–intentions, but he spoke nothing of it. The hulking darkness hiding behind the door did nothing to ease my nervousness, but there I stood, naked with the glory of my soul awaiting his judgement. I tried to stare past the door into his soul, maybe attempt to instill some fear in him while I had the chance–before I withered before the magnificence of his power.

There was silence for a time, neither of us eager to start what would be my damnation for all of eternity, so we took the time to relax in our positions: he behind his door, and I outside of it. What was strange about this particular door was that there was nothing but a frame–no house, no room, nothing. Just a frame and a doorbell and a wooden door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Death begin to take himself away from his flimsy defense, drawing up to fill the space between him and the door frame. I had to tilt my head back to find the sinister red orbs of his eyes, mouth still set and determined to find a way out of this mess (it a little unfair that he had the advantage when it came to intimidation).

“So,” came the detached voice, “you’ve died.” There was a hint of uncertainty in it, as if he was afraid he was addressing the situation wrong, or he didn’t quite know what to do with me. I glared back defiantly. His act was not going to sway me.

“Do your worst,” I blurted out, tensing my nonexistent muscles. Or, they did exist, but not anymore. I would have no need for a body in the afterlife, but that wasn’t going to stop me from fighting back. I looked for openings where I could grapple him, tuned myself to the ethereal air. I heard his detached voice open its mouth to say something, then felt a frown coming from the demon in the door frame. Before he could say anything else, I went off again. “You don’t scare me, tough guy,” I growled.

“That’s good,” he replied, relieved.

“You won’t fool me, I know you’re trying to get my guard down, but listen here, bud,” I said, dipping down into a fighting stance. I shot Death my best death stare. “I’m not going down.” Raising my two fists, I tightened my grip on the coins.

“But–”

“Give me life,” I yelled, “Or try and dare wrest the freedom from my hands!” With that I wound up an arm and threw one of the coins at him, breathing heavily. I hadn’t realized I was so worked up.

The glint of the silver coin disappeared without a trace inside Death and we both looked at where it had connected with his darkness. There was a meditative pause for him, and an awkward one for me. I thought I could feel heat spread across my face.

Finally, he said, with hesitant amusement, “That was easy.”

“You think this is a joke?” I sputtered immediately, feigning rage. “You think that my death–my life–is a joke?” Taking one step forward, I thrust my face to his, lip curling.

“I didn’t mean–”

“Well, it’s not! None of this is funny!”

“I’m sorry I offended–”

“But you know what? If that didn’t work, no worries.” A grin snaked its way across my features. “I’ve got another.” And there displayed between my index and middle fingers was a silver coin. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

“Well, I did–”

“I’ll make you an offer you can’t resist.”

“That won’t do much, I’m afraid, it’s already–”

“This bad boy for another chance at life, how about that?”

“Please listen to me–”

“Or I can offer a contract–anything, it’s a good bargain, isn’t it? Selling my soul to the devil? It’s the same thing as dying!”

“Actually, no–”

“Okay, fine! You win!” By then I was sobbing, my beautifully crafted facade melting away. Despite my genuine feelings, perhaps I could sway the god with my tears. “Take me to hell! Or whatever pit you have in store for me! I don’t care anymore! Judge me! Look at me! I have nothing to hide!” Death winced and shrank back behind the door again, the nervousness growing in him. He had never been good with strangers.

Silence settled again, occasionally interrupted by my sobs. It felt like an eternity until I felt a hand on my shoulder, comforting. Death had come out of the door frame, seeming to kneel by me. I looked at him, broken.

“It’s… It’s not all that bad, you know,” he said quietly, taking my hands and helping me stand. “You’ll meet lots of new people, and everything will be okay.” The darkness cocked his head to the side, a faint smile felt through the spirit waves. I sniffled for a bit, then nodded.

“Okay,” I said, wiping my eyes. “But that means you don’t get the coin.” Trembling lips. Death thought for a bit, then shrugged.

“I think that’s okay,” he said, slow and warm. “Let’s go.” Cloaked in his arm, I nodded and went along with him into the door frame. The space smelled faintly of ginger snap cookies and tea, like the house of my grandmother.

I suppose it’s not so bad here.

Something…

They are born from mindless meadows into
Under boxes and between closet doors that don’t
Close all the way.
Of teeth that smile when turned aside, always
Hands that reach for soft skin, wanting
Just a bit of touch; grant the desires of thin–
Air.

Clenched lips of a blushing maiden could not hope
To unmaid her purity departing at a dock,
Kerchief waving in the wind, as taught should do
Yet never done,
Nor maiden man who once was adored and now forever
Lost
For fear soul is fleeting and often misjudged on a whim
As frail as ice.

Autumn leaves
That of which are better known in hearts
Of children and elderly document life precisely,
As compared to coarse leaves of chapter books too yellowed
To clamp on with sweet fingers and so the tide
Turns when no one is looking;
When winter slips by people begin to run.

At the end of nights the sulfurous haunts 
Hair at the tips of heads and there lays bare in all
Naked glory–green and young and face full of shine
When time once was to live and now it is to–

–Die?

Or dream or laugh or–
Smile
–Or run or dance or sleep
Forevermore in seasons come and go,
Lost and found again and again,
Sunwarmth snatched away by claws so
(Un)naturally one cannot but hope to feel
At ease.

-Mien

Missing

Dear you,
caught me up in your
words; (changeling–
exchange places so I could
know how are you)
you have loved me
with crooked letters
hush now, where are you
your soul gone from me I
blew on mist to fight
this feeling: amiss.
Last time I saw
feet tripping on wires
I thought of you;

Please, come back soon.

-Mien

Rainfall

He saw her face in the orbs of his ruby gem eyes, fixed in the broken face plate of his form. He was hanging from the walls of the ruined laboratory, wires snaking around the decaying metal of his limbs. Somehow he could still see, the database of his mind whirring, just barely keeping up with his dying body. The nerve endings at the base of his neck told him of the exposed wires, but nothing could be done. The rest of him was cold in death as it had been in life.

Her young hands caressed his face, tracing the edges of where his mouth used to be; all that was left was the hole where the bottom half of his face was supposed to go. It had been ripped away so viciously the rest of his face had come loose as well, forcing it at a slight upward tilt. The sensors in his skin had stopped working a long time ago, and he couldn’t feel the touch he craved for while hidden away against his will. He forced his dim eyesight to focus, trying to understand her features and see if she was someone he recognized from Before.

He saw her face, marred by dirt. The lines falling down her skin were tear streaks, blackened by her eyeliner. He thought she had such beautiful pale eyes. Or was that the program dictating his thoughts? He didn’t care anymore, except that he could drown in her color.

The cracked-open skull of the metal man showed a dense gathering of cogs and gears and wires and batteries. He thought that perhaps the rest of his head was still whole, but the girl saw the feeble movements, could hear the fans whining as he tried to make himself work. She saw his ruby eyes move, searching her face–or trying to, at least. From first sight, she knew he was a goner.

She didn’t mean to run through the broken place, filled with death and the sense of failure that existed simultaneously. If she didn’t escape soon, they would be on her, the hounds of doom that yearned for her flesh. The girl never expected to find the laboratory with its cracked dome that mirrored the android’s synthetic skull, the wires hanging everywhere, the moss and mold crawling up the weeping stones and over metal and bones.

It looked like the aftermath of a war zone, pillaged and raped.

The casualties were plain to the eye: robots were strewn about like forsaken dolls, flesh bodies few and on their sides, exposing cavities that fallen stones had hidden. The floor was blackened, sparks sputtered from wires here and there, and rust-colored spots were evident on the wall. She had brushed against some of the spots on her way here, accidentally, the dried blood falling away in flakes. That was when she had begun crying, the fear catching up with the very real possibility of death.

He thought she was crying for him and his brokenness. His joints creaked as he tried to move, but strength was not with him. He wanted to caress her face as she did his, wanted to know her biography and the texture of her skin. For a second he forgot he was artificial and incomplete, dying in a prison that he once called a birthplace. She looked back, startled by some sound behind her he was deaf to, then met his glittering eyes again. There was a horror etched on her face that he couldn’t understand. She stepped back, eyes wide, as if regarding him in some frenzy. There was a creaking sound as he tried to crane his neck towards her, like a dog following his master. The light made the tears on her face gleam, contributing to her young appearance.

He clicked. His soundbox had been destroyed a while ago in the explosion, and with his lower half of his face gone, there was no way to communicate. A contemplative look passed the girl’s face, and then her hand reached towards him again. This time it went past and he felt a tugging on the back of his head. A release, then his face fell forward. She had mud-caked boots and striped socks, a bulging bag at her hip, but they disappeared in a split second. Just rocks, now.

Not long after, the humanoids came, with their elongated noses and limbs, pianist fingers tipped with claws, and dripping mouths. They smelled the scent on him and followed, easily picking up the trail from there. With their broad shoulders, two of them had knocked into the robot, pummeling him to the ground as he slid free from his restraints. His dimming eyesight vibrated as he saw them race towards a tunnel. Flecks of rain descended through the crack in the dome. Just as she disappeared, he was leaving too, but still he couldn’t understand. Still, he saw her pale eyes, still he wanted to drown in her.

The drops of water grew quickly into a torrent, taking away her smell, his life.

Finally, darkness settled and he was no more.

* * *

Inspired by this. Critique and thoughts are always welcome. Just a scene I thought up while listening.

Intervals

I tasted the name of your horoscope
And felt the hollows between each letter,
Mulled the pitches over in my head,
My thoughts.

I penned them on paper,
Flat instead of sharp,
The melody of your memory is a bit of dissonance
On my ink,
Surplus of years inside the well where
The pen rests.

I was told it starts with little steps,
But I took half-step then whole step,
Listening to the distance travelled and 
Wanting to love
This
Creation.

I danced with your chords.
Minor or major,
Just draw me in
To waltz a three over four with
Shy toes that fit the intervals
Of your feet.

Let me feel the harmony of your notes
Swell in all dynamics.

-Mien

Flower Language

Your love came to me like spring
In the heat of July,
When sunlight shone softly on your face
And illuminated all I adored–
The windows to your soul.
I opened the creaky old door untouched
By entities who have searched fervently for it,
Hoping to set it aflame
Like you did to my heart.

We held hands innocently,
Naught but butterflies in flight, content,
Wings dusting the rest of the earth with
Awe and wonder.

Our love-lies-bleeding and I can’t seem
To patch it up.

I drank the words from your buttercup lips
Because flowers can’t talk,
And you were afraid the radiance of your nature,
Your chlorophyll, your breathing,
Would attract too much attention,
So you hid yourself in a forest
Because if you fell, the trees would know.

I slipped you lilacs and wore camellias in my hair
Despite the fact that our existence was
Not meant to be,
That we could not be “we”, unless it was just
You
And me.
You made a wreath with weeping willow branches
And wore it on your head, for us.

One day we shall forsake purple hyacinths
And begin to form our stories
Not with flowers, but with our mouths–
Real sounds, real words.
Our silence, too, is real.
Forget-me-not, our purple hyacinths, and our
creaky doors.

-Mien

Addiction V (Driver)

It is hard to feel alive
When you have been run over
Again and again through a ditch
By the same rusty car you used to
Go out drinking in.

It is hard to see with seeing eyes,
Unblinded by chemicals and bandages
And to fly with wings so obviously
Damaged and broken
Because of that same rusty car you
Used to go out driving in.

When I breathe I taste asphalt and
Potholes where others have bumped along
And then I taste you and remember joy
And life.
What it was like to live and to laugh.

It had never moved from its place in the
Garage, where it slumbered peacefully
since long ago.
It creaks from the toll of time and
Dreams of adventure.

Look in the dusty cracked mirrors of the
Vehicle
And I find the driver is me,
Ruining my sorrowful body over and over
Again.
Gentle nudges from a giant beast
Exploding on my sore body.

-Mien

Dementia

There is a certain kind of dementia that
Appears in the wake between 2 AM and 3 AM
When the brain becomes clearer,
Or perhaps it’s just that much more muddled,
A pretense of sanity
That keeps me about as sane as a
Sleep-deprived maniac,
Too hung up on the act of not sleeping
To be acting
In the late hours of night–
Or is it morning now?
The sky is still as dark as my mind,
So dark I can’t mind the color of the sky,
Everything might as well have
A lack of color.

And if this is hell then I don’t understand
What’s so hellish about it–
Just the usual murmurings of the demons
As they whisper devious plans.
They don’t mind me so much,
More that they survived tonight than
The last
Night when dreams came to me persistently,
Of your face, smooth and round,
Like the words you uttered from your mouth.

It’s about this time of day
When the two factions of life meet,
And I see the residents of the shadows
Stalking out of the residence with dismay;
One more night kicked out–
Kick down the door and leave,
I want to tell them
But it seems they already know.
If it weren’t for me,
Where would they go,
Claws that have dulled by scraping
At walls and
Teeth glinting when they smiled,
Friendly.

I know this is crazy talk
And demon folk don’t care where they
Go, just where they could
Make a difference,
And difference is a big thing;
They never took it lightly–
Your face was full of light
When you appeared in my dreams,
And now they appear on my walls
But not in a hauntingly sinister way,
But in co-existence with them,
Fauna and Flora.

I’m only human, I wouldn’t last long.
But if there’s one thing that is especially human,
It would be the way I dreamed
Of you
And spoke to the demons sometimes,
Not always responding,
Not breaking their spell.
Watching them was fun, I wish
You were here to see them
Too.

But your face is stuck on my walls,
Only between 2 AM and 3 AM,
And I don’t particularly mind,
Not when you’re on it.
There is a hint of insanity but
I suppose it came with the words
Written by your lips when I decided
I wanted to be an owl.
I suppose this is a fair trade for
My humanity.

-Mien