Comforting Thoughts
Community Ashtray
Poetry
Poetry
Tyler Olcese
Caleb N. Gonsalves
Livermore, California, USA
The waves will continue to crash, deep and murky; white foam caps. Upon weather-worn, time-torn rock-croppings; I stand on a precipice. Deep and murky; white foam caps, the crashing cacophony calls to me. I stand on a precipice, convincing myself not to cast off. The crashing cacophony calls to me: laughing, crying, screaming, pleading. Convincing myself not to cast off, I rest among the wildflowers. Laughing, crying, screaming, pleading– a cavalry of jaded knights stab at me with supple blades while I rest among the wildflowers. It is a fit-full sleep; blaring conflicts in my head. A cavalry of jaded knights stab at me with supple blades, I do not notice anymore, for what is pain? It is a fit-full sleep; blaring conflicts in my head and the taste of sweet promises on my tongue.
Roseville, California, USA
I do not notice anymore, for what is pain, compared to the empty void of unreachable space and the taste of sweet promises on my tongue? “Hush child,” I hear a moonbeam say.
She had a flower on her arm, and an anchor on her foot self portraits on her own skin designs she had chosen, personal graffiti, Her body the canvas, voiding garage doors old trains, and underpasses.
“Compared to the empty void of unreachable space, my starlight is but a blink in the night– hush child, do not think that way,” I hear a moonbeam say.
She was a fever dream in the flesh, In an instant I thought I would ruin her. I wanted her sins to be enough to drive me away.
My starlight is but a blink in the night, but I will shine with all my might, so I will not think that way. I have a purpose; I am full-filled. I will shine with all my might, so do not cry out when you see me, I have a purpose; I am full-filled. For there is peace in knowing. Do not cry out when you see me upon weather-worn, time-torn rock croppings. For there is peace in knowing, the waves will continue to crash.
I lingered, just enough time to reminisce separate memories. She told me about a spiral down, that she had.. and the death of her father, Now with a lit cigarette. She offered me a hit, As I told her of my homelessness, and of my dying heart.. A suffering...we all face, ---for me it feels so real, heart diseases creep in slowly and do damage. almost as much as the ones who got away.
63
Sometimes I wonder which pain is emotional and which ones are physical, when they get so layered they blend, like the cemetery of cigarettes now crumpled to ash in her scarred hand.
