Anxiously I await it.

Sweat, tears,

For an eternity,

For only a thought.

The carving of myself,

From a rough marble,

Into who I am.

But this axe.

Under the heartless edge,

I was merely coal.

But diamond was not the result.

As I crumble to dust.

Yup

my eye lids start to shut against my will

i take another sip of my tea

now luke warm

it fuels me

i feel strong

i flex

hell yea

i look up

tik tok tik tok

eleven forty seven on the clock

this is my poem

and what I show ’em

hey look a message

message here message there

they don’t really stop

not that I mind

tik tok tik tok

eleven forty nine on the clock

dunno why i am up

yup

The boy stepped into the metal machine.

A paradox of confidence as he readies himself.

His foot pushes down,

And the still unnatural machine jumps forward.

He joins the masters on their journey,

But he knows he is unworthy.

He travels behind one,

Attempting to catch its trail.

An over-extension of skill.

Time slows down.

A curse,

A shout,

A surrender,

A new-found fear.

Time travels onward.

But the boy is frozen in place.

The man walks among the countless colours.

The epitome of botany,

Each plant their own unique beauty.

The proud, green trees are filled with song,

As the birds form a natural orchestra in their arms.

The shy, purple butterfly calmly flies among the flowers,

Without a care in the world.

It lazily lands on a flower almost hidden away,

As only its red leaves are revealed to the outside.

A bee travels slowly through the calm air,

As no wind disturbs its travel.

Its tiny feet find footing on a yellow plant,

As soon all that is seen of it is its black bottom.

It drinks as deeply as it reaches.

The man sits down on soft grass.

He closes his eyes.

A deep breath,

Absorbing the atmosphere.

Absorbing peace.

The untamable beast roamed the skies,

Its mighty roar could be heard in the furthest corners of the land.

Look at it in the eye, and it blinds you.

Stand close to it, and it strikes you.

Without remorse, or logical choice it attacks.

A child cries out,

Reaching for their mother.

The woman stares at the beast, unwavering.

She dares to smile,

Her eyes filled with appreciation of its beauty.

The child halted their cries.

A flash,

A gasp.

The water stops falling from the child’s eyes,

As they fill with awe,

And join the storm.

For E.S.

We have cried, we have laughed.

We have shouted, and our voices have been but a whisper.

For eighteen years you will have been by my side.

The caring guide,

Only human, but so much more to me.

When I cried for help, and a way out:

You were there with me.

When I told a joke that could set a new low bar for “unfunny”,

You laughed with me.

When the house felt so big, and you felt so small,

You went through it together with me.

Because you are my mother,

and I am blessed to be your son.

Phantom Skates

The wait, the transaction.

The ice, and its natives, gliding effortlessly.

Without consent, my knees reach the frozen floor.

Again and again,

A flail, a stumble.

Juxtaposing the natives:

Me, the laughing fool.

The price of my foreign offence,

A persistent ache, but also a longing.

As the phantom skates now long for their home.

First Steps

The boy tenderly steps into the arena.

Quietly, he attempts to simply walk along its edge.

His potential mortal enemy stares at him,

Its cold white eyes focused on the unstable shape.

A lunge,

A flail,

A fall.

The only one?

No.

The boy catches himself,

He remembers to breathe.

His eyes close,

Deep breath,

A release,

And his eyes open.

A fire, threatening to melt the cool gaze.

The boy became a bruised boy,

But in that arena,

He would not fall again.

The silhouettes move with elegance unknown to the girl,

Their feet move with a steady rhythm,

A focus on nothing else but the music.

The girl’s breath was taken away.

The beats become frequent,

As they fill her churning mind, her eyes are drawn once more to the shapes moving oh so elegantly.

Their freedom, but precision.

Their passionate patience.

The girl was drawn in,

In her hand she found a hand,

On her feet, she found an even stand.

Her legs moved as she was pulled along.

A nudge, A step.

She was lost,

but what she found:

Was herself.

A conflict arises,

As feelings rapidly flicker in and out of existence.

Feelings are always present,

Like the dancing flame on an eternal candle:

They are never extinguished.

One day however,

The light emanating dance was cut off,

But from it, a greater fire came.

A fire that seeks to light candles with its own dance.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton