Summer two thousand nine, in terms of explosion.

Hullo. Apologies for the ambiguity contained within many of my recent poems. Apparently this summer is turning out to be one of a lot of contemplation and thoughts and ideas (more than usual, perhaps). I’ll hopefully get something that isn’t a poem up soon. I mean, maybe. I should stop suggesting that I am or am not going to write certain things, huh? Tell you what: I will write something, eventually. That pretty much covers it. Okay; this one: The poem is done, but the thought process is a work in progress. Take what you get from it – I hope it’s something. Love you guys – well, as much as I can, with only knowing a few of you. :) Also, PS, this blog is about twenty hits away from 1000 views. That is absolutely ridiculous.


I need room.
Not a big, open field
or an ocean rising and falling at my bidding,
but room.
Just space.
Maybe an empty movie theater.
Or the halls of the high school
ten minutes after the bell goes.
A place that isn’t too far from anyone else,
but a place that only has time and reason
for me.
Public seclusion.
I want to be alone until the silence becomes too big.
Until the weirdness of my soul
starts to swallow me up.
Then I need people.
Strangers and friends,
people to remind me of all the
faces I’ve made and all the stories I’ve
fumbled through.
Strangers to prove to me that I
purse my lips
and change my tone.
Friends to assure me that
they see through all that.
I need to be alone
until I need to be with.

Because sometimes it’s like I’m exploding.
Supernova-ing my way through existence,
burning out in a blaze of glory
that was too blinding to look straight at.
And I want to know that
there are going to be people there
who will cover their eyes
but hold on anyway.
Supernovas need space
and it is then that all eyes turn to them.
A devoted audience fixed on the
flaming speck in the black.

And we are silly.
We humans, devoted as we are to the heavens
and the mysteries housed there –
we watch through our telescopes
in dazzled fascination
as the explosions glow and glimmer
their way through the light years.
I once watched an star burn out
for an entire summer.
It was the brightest pinpoint in the sky
and I would stare at it,
all at once in awe
and in fear.
For if the fire of a star could disappear,
what was stopping the rest of us?
I remember finding out
that the star was long dead
and only now was its dying breath
reaching our eyes.
It was that far away.
I didn’t like finding out.

Humans are silly.
We stand in awe of things
that are dead.
We believe we are like
the dead things that awe us.
I am no supernova.
There is not a beautiful way
to compare the whirlwinds in me
to the fire of a star.
In the infinite universe,
I have only my space.
So give me less of it.
I need some room to burn.
But not light years of it.


Talk to me

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s