I’d been assured the
Old man was dead and gone, but
I had to be sure.
My shovel broke the
Fresh earth of his grave, and I
pried the lid from his
Coffin by moonlight.
He coughed, and said “rest in peace.
Boy, you’d never let
Me rest.” Nodding I
Drove the stake through his heart and
Stroked his hair. He laughed.
If you ever read
My writing again, it will
Be accidental.
For no one who puts
Their hypocrite judgment on
Me deserves my words.
The world turns,
I am unmoved.
I scream, no one hears.
Frozen, imprisoned, cursed,
Desolate.
My family gone to
Miami while I discern
My truest purpose
Fighting monsters and
Rogue gods as they wreak havoc
In the human form
Scion, old money
Finds me on a couch, says we
Should eat at the school
Of culinary
Arts nearby. No longer mad
At me; my anger
Evaporated.
I am having cocktails for
Breakfast again. The
Mirror shows my face,
Sun burnt. We chat about crowds,
Anxiety and
Vaccines, descending
By elevator through the
Thronging masses. He
Sees my face under
The mask, and he is friendly
This time, we are friends.
Speak your truth to them.
You wound them to their core. Hold
Your tongue, or you will
Be alone, broken.
The choice you face every day.
Which price will you pay?
The bright boy with problems got separated from his group. He’s alone in a dark tunnel in the frozen winter. I don my winter gear and proceed into the tunnel to attempt a rescue without scaring him off.
The girl is the daughter of the sister, not the mother. The sister warms to her daughter.
Young lovers laugh. The father returns to put an end to what he thinks is mockery, but is actually not about him at all. He drives a nail into the young man’s back though his shoulder armor.
I think of what a relief it would be to have a nail driven into my back.
Blindly blundered I
Through life and love and now am
Bound forevermore.
My father told me
“From whom much is given much
Is expected in
Return.” Now I see
That’s not how gifts work. That’s how
Bank loans and contracts
Work. Gifts are freely
Given and received, not to
Count the cost. My life.
Herman’s Hermitage 