Tuesday, October 30, 2012

NEW POEM: "The black spot of an ant"


So I was doing calculus homework innocently last night, when an ant decided to crawl over my laptop. Like any normal, paranoid human being, I promptly squished him with some graphing paper. And then, like an abnormal, incurably nerdy human being, I decided to write a poem about him. It's not a death elegy or anything cute. (Sorry.) But it does have a lot to do with supernatural judgment, infidelity, fate, volition, and other cheery topics like that. Enjoy!



"The black spot of an ant"


The black ink spot of an ant crawled
over the horizon of my homework,
and I attempted murder within
the walls of stationary,
folding the pages to his doom.
What must have gone through his mind—
or anyone’s mind—
as his papercosm came crumpling down upon him,
as I played God
to the unfortunate businessman
in a black suit,
and his entire lifespan,
from waxen egg to a worker with duties
and responsibilities
and a family (
he had, after all,
just gone an increment too far
while guiltily lusting for a
forbidden grain of sucrose  )
well, all of that— suddenly
SNAPPED
into a halt
when the parchment walls of his existence
came avalanching in and
pressed together
in the cruel, crushing, cynical pressure of delicacies.


Wednesday, October 24, 2012

New Poem!: "Regret Is A Broken Window"


Note: This poem is after the style of Emily Dickinson. Also, Chronos (or Kronos) was the god of time in Greek mythology, not just the password in "The Incredibles." :)


Regret Is A Broken Window

Regret is a broken window
Which once was a sheet of Glass
Stained with fingerprints of dust
And misty Bitterness.

When we were through with words opaque—
The Masquerade of guessing hearts,
A Love Affair of Hide and Seek,
We broke the Mask apart.

And through the shattered pane we saw
Each other true and fair—
Our soul Intentions weak and raw—
The Solved Enigma bare.

The glassy crumbs like drops of blood
Condemned our mindlessness,
For seeing none is seeing all—
For Ignorance is Bliss.

No hand could patch the ruined glass,
No skill could mend the fault—
We’d force the hands of clocks reverse,
But not the Chronos vault.

Now and then we’ll wish helpless,
And claw at Will or Fate—
But none can stop the truthful flow
No healer heals the blow,
For Regret is—
Love is—
Life is—
A fragment of a window.