I See the Silence Coming
I
I can see the silence coming,
but only with my eyes closed.
It always starts with darkness and
waiting for a whisper
to tell me if I’m good or great.
Or anything at all, really,
anything more than the dust in my eyes,
starting in my lashes,
swirling in my lids,
forever trapped but dancing there,
in the world under my face,
and the stars between my thoughts,
just atmosphere before the carbon
becomes words and worlds of its own.
II
Gold dust crashes into Itself,
colliding just to collide
because all It knows is gravity.
It decorates darkness by accident,
making life to kill it,
making love to kill it again.
If the dust could talk
instead of just bombard Itself,
It would probably lie to you
without realizing its own untruth
by laughing about the journey
and how It planned every part,
as if not just bleeding, dying,
and being beautiful in the dark.
III
Violent from the outside, maybe,
the making of moons from bone.
But every gold must someday gray,
just as new gold must be shone!
I’ve dreamt It all enough to see
the calm in chaos grandest,
littered with glittering gold and gray,
where men saw demons in debris:
a whore with saint-stained lips,
riding monster’s breath apocalypse.
Myself, I’ve seen no angry angels
when I’ve ventured there alone,
just moving stillness, life renewed and
silence, showing me what I am.
It’s quite coincidental that I scheduled this post for today, as it employs biblical apocalyptic imagery to demonstrate both the necessity of individual thought and the benefits of meditation/alone-time; the poem also mentions carbon. I wrote it earlier this year, but scheduled weeks ago to post it today, on the heels of yesterday’s trending story that the Earth’s carbon levels have now reached permanently damaging peaks.
Love always,
your Mister
Lonely Hearts Chapel 