Waiting and Waited For Beyond the Sky
They grow tall, some so much so they seem to hold the sky above us, like a twig holding up a tent. As animals and humans go from one place to another, they have an objective.
And whatever that may be, they eventually return home.
A home… a place where you have someone waiting for you.
We always are waiting for someone, though we don’t always know it.
We are waited for by others as well.
And maybe we don’t know it, maybe they don’t know it either.
But they wait.
Even if they may never come, they wait.
But for whom does a tree wait?
It grows and expands its branches on its own accord.
Mother Earth waits for the trees to grow from off the ground,
But knows they are never meant to return until their end.
The only destination for the tree is the boundless sky.
If to say for certain what a tree waits for, it is for its own end.
To return to the place from whence it came.
But then for what reason does a tree reach for the sky?
What awaits the pillar of life that seeks to pierce the heavens with its massive trunk?
We don’t know and we may never know.
If the tree waits for another, or is waited for by another…
It is what lays beyond that sky.
The very heavens they hold up, the trees gaze beyond.
A vast expanse, the everything that is nothing,
A simple dream and ideal; essential to the tree as a goal.
While forever unobtainable, it is still satisfactory in its own special way.
The work boots in my closet.
They aren’t my own, but I may need them someday.
Be that as it may, they sure are dirty…
The laces are shredded, soles caked with mud.
Akin to a hazelnut covered in a chocolatier’s brew,
But the coating was a half-assed job.
A once fine leather, faded and torn,
Now nothing more than cow scraps.
Many folks come to visit, hang up their coat and tell me:
“You should throw those out, they’ve seen their time come and go.”
I almost took them to Goodwill last week,
With the rest of the old things left in the closet.
But I didn’t need anyone to tell me, to remind me,
That they would not be used by anyone else.
I was the one who was gonna need them someday.
These old, muddy, crusty work boots.
Trash and treasure are in the eye of the beholder,
And these are garbage scraps I can never let go.
People often forget the few incidents that occur in otherwise “safe conditions.”
The old man never did want a white-collared job.
Always hacking away, deep within the earth.
“You said if I ever need money, to take them with me.”
As I turn away from the gravestone,
I go grab my father’s old work boots.
Caked with mud, coal and oil…
And shining speckles of diamond dust.
The Human Being is a Complex Machine
Every man and woman is a complex machine.
So much so I hesitate to call them a machine,
Something of another’s creation built with set limitations and functions.
The studies of social sciences have shown us many patterns in the existence of humanity.
But that does not make us any less unique.
Take for instance a boy, high school age.
A person who idealizes kindness towards others,
Yet still holds anger he finds hard to control.
Take for instance a boy who loves his friends,
But also loves to take time to be alone.
Someone so eager to ease the pain of others but after so long is tired of it all,
Making him sick with his own being.
Take for instance a boy who loves philosophy,
And yet often speaks frankly and boldly,
Full of doubt to maintain a sense of realism.
Take for instance a boy, who takes high level academics, someone smart.
Smart yet so stupid.
So stupid he can’t figure out simple riddles.
Academic riddles, and riddles of the mind and heart alike.
While knowing so much knows so little of what to say and do,
When everything is not okay.
Wanting peace and getting drama,
Easing drama and giving way to discord.
Many good and bad things.
A lot of things he wants to improve and a lot of things he’s not satisfied with.
But he wouldn’t have it any other way.
This makes him a human.
The predictable, yet infinitely complex living machine.
A Luminescent Final Day
I wait by the bus stop on a lonely road. Night after night, along the gravel path through the wood I roam. Far from the village and my home; from everyone and everything, to this spot. I sit. I take out my cell phone. Its blue blinking in the dark gives me a slight sense of ease. A breeze blows up the hill from down the road, and I see a light. A figure moving up the pavement with a screeching sound.
It starts out slow but soon moves at breakneck speed and heads towards the bench. I try to avoid it, but my feet get caught, and I fumble in my panic. It’s over. I hear a large metallic tang, and see my own blood spill. The pool gives me a sense of warmth on the otherwise cold, hard ground. I watch as my cell phone flickers out, knocked out of my hands from the impact. My vision blurs, and the gaze fixed on my cell phone fades to black…
It’s morning. I open the blinds and the sun shines brilliantly through the window. I gallop down the stairs in an early morning frenzy, and take a walk outside. The woods are shining brilliantly as well, as the dew reflects infinitely more light then it can hold into the iris of my eye. I seem to have forgotten my slippers, but my feet are perfectly clean. I walk down the gravel path, feeling a skip in my step that I haven’t felt in years.
I go down to the village and look around at the shops. People are smiling, and children are playing, away from the urban city life. No one stops me to say hello, but that’s alright. I enjoy watching everyone plenty, as their smiles shine brilliantly in my eyes. I stop beneath the large oak tree at the epicenter of the throng of people. As much boundless energy as I may feel, I know my limits and decide to rest, below the brilliantly shining tree and it’s beautiful shining leaves.
I awake to an orange dusk. The people are closing up their shops, men wearing ponchos on their way home. The kids have stopped playing ball. They aren’t allowed to come out at night. I stand up, looking up once again at the leaves which flaunt a vibrant green. I wonder why everything shines so much today… has the world always been this bright? I almost feel relieved as the sky goes gray, and I begin to walk.
I walk and walk, aimlessly until the sun has long since fallen below the horizon. The Earth’s once brilliant glow now replaced by a moonlit glow, by comparison almost a moonlit gloom. A strange thought suddenly occurs to me: Where am I supposed to go? This is odd. I just left home this morning, there’s no reason I shouldn’t know where to go. Finally, running out of steam, I rest beneath a tree on the side of the road. Across the way is a man, seemingly waiting for a ride to the city. He’s on his phone, and its faint blue glow is somehow unsettling.
Then, disaster struck. The car speeding down the road busts a tire, and makes a one-way crash course for the bench. The man reacts quickly, but his efforts are made futile by his poor footing. As if opening a can of paint, the ground is covered in a red glaze. I stay under the tree in utter shock, trying to contemplate the scene. After a while, I decide to pick up the phone, still flickering about 5 feet from the wreckage.
Thunder roars. As it goes further into the night, a storm brews, causing the earth and my eardrums to tremble. The pouring rain glows eerily, like ectoplasm from a spectral figure. Looking at the cell phone in my hand, it too has the strange, white glow. After what feels like an eternity, I reach a realization. This is my phone. Why did he have it and not me? Why would I think it was normal for him to have it? No one within 50 miles of here has one! My confusion reaching a climax, I stumble backwards into the tree’s trunk behind me. The blade of Zeus strikes. The tree is sentenced to its death, and me mine own, which I should have accepted long ago. The blinding light for the last time engulfs my vision, and it all. Fades. To black.