i am a keystone, but not in importance-
an in-between point in the lives of Homo sapiens.
i catch their fallen souls, holding them
like the stardust on a meteor's surface.
tenderly, gently,
almost accidental but not quite
i watch as they sit atop a potter's wheel,
their bodies and faces melting and molding
with time and water.
and i see them as they walk away,
newly engineered soldiers,
on their way.
it doesn't really bother me.
i am a rehab clinic;
i am an intermission between acts
good things may happen, yet that's not what i am known for.
i was not made for permanence.
when Satan himself pulled me from his fiery vat of
pulsating
slithering flesh
he looked at me
and he told me "son, you may not be memorable
but you are mine."
papa,
i wish that i could give you more.
if not love, if it's useful, if it's purpose, hand it to me
the impermanence of my mortal flesh is no different,
and should i die
i wish to die peacefully and alone.
that way my only disservice would be to myself.
forgettable pages of a book being torn out and used for firestarter.
that's just how these things go.
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the archives - a poetry portfolio
PoetryA light buzzing distracts you from whatever you're doing. There is an old, weathered monitor on a table next to you. You could have sworn that it had just *appeared* out of thin air. Out of curiosity, you stare at it for a moment. The screen flicke...
