Early Age Quest

I was searching
The dots on the map kept you hiding
Seven minutes and seven hours later
Not a trace of you,
except those glitters
Dancing on the warm and packed air
But maybe I was too stubborn to
Let go of you in despair
I strive for your glistening shadows

Yes, shadows.

You're a deflated bouquet of soft yellow flowers
Derogating every power I tried to gain
from my weaknesses
You sit in on a camaraderie of  frail strings
My heartstrings
From where we differ
Until the last of our blinking brown eyes

Every night we're not dead on the ground
Thanks to my endless quest of you,
round and round

I was searching
And I still am

~c, b.e.w (February 20th 2014)

A marriage of fists and kites, 
the smile is hammered so painstakingly 
into the gut it forms a ring.
~ Trophies, by Robert Fernandez (from "We Are Pharaoh", 2011)

 It came anyway, that uprush   

of fear—because somewhere a child was dead:   

at a market, a subway, a school, in a lunatic’s bed.

~ Driving to Camp Lend-A-Hand, by Berwyn Moore (2005)

Capturing What I Will Miss

Scrolling past through my tumblr likes was a big throwback. And I like that. The scents and feels of flattering images on how I was and what I did or what used to be my obsessions. Some still going strong. Some faded slowly and left blurry images all over my memory, but not yet ghosts. There were pictures of skies. Dark blue with heavy clouds, black and white fading stars, pink and light orange with a view of summer haze. Another was snowy and softly lit up by the morning sun.

Further down, fashionistas smile with their long blond hair and straight white teeth, holding cold glasses with variously colored liquids inside. Branded bags, shoes, and jewelry captured by an expensive camera in an equally expensive cream room. Flowers all over a wooden table, candles, a man and woman exchanging rings and grins. 

Scroll again, and I found quotes of my favorite poets, gifs of my favorite people, and another, and another. Things I would hate to pass by. Things I would hate to slip away from my grip.

We sure love life, aren't we? 

While this life is not where we belong.