Blue In All Your Glory

In my dreams I stand around

In nothingness;

no light, no sound

Then sadly or not,

A man throws a shot

It knocks my head

then enters the net

And scores the winning pot

I look around for apologies

They’re all celebrating, you see

But I make one out from the vicious crowd

For he was oddly familiar

It was the man I see in my desperate daydreams

In the memories I keep deep down

The man I cry about when I think of him somewhen

The man I want undead

Time warps itself, and in his arms

I plea

“Don’t leave me!”

But he didn’t even hear me

That dastardly man, I begin to assert.

You just won’t stop

Until I plea

Into Dirt

A carnival with hoops and strings

Beautiful lanterns, the prettiest things

Wild hair and skirts that stick

Out like sunflowers, with petals like rings

And there’s this woman, strong as can be

Smile a-gleam, eyes twinkling

She takes my hand and leads me onstage

I hope to God that she can’t see the reds of my face

I want to believe that this life that I’m living-

I want to believe that for once.

This is winning

Time warps itself, and she is no longer there

I’m alone in my pursuits of a destiny so fair

So wild

So free,

So that it’s okay to be me

But alas.

Time warps itself, and she is no longer there

A sea of butterflies whip my attention this way

And that

They storm together, amalgamations of orange

And black

I reach out to grab one, but they elude my grasp.

In the tide of Monarchs, I am a Viceroy

I, too, can fly

but not as far.

Not as high.

Dependent on the monarch’s pattern

Am I still myself if my face is of someone else?

What shapes an identity?

My mind? My experiences? My autonomy?

Or is it who others see and expect me to be?

Who decides who a person is?

For if Viceroys have to don the armor

of a Monarch

But not the Crown,

then a phony is what it is

A stranger to the bloodline, an heir to what is not mine

And in the midst of it is blue.

Then I’ll stop by that beautiful grave

Upon the rolling hills and pave-ed way

Push my head into the dirt, and assert

that not in my wildest dreams

would I have believed

that You would ever leave me.

But perhaps it’s Fate

In her cruelest of ways, Eyes a-gleam and smile twinkling,

That says She has a play;

A meaning

To everything that She’s done,

That She plans to do,

That She promises to have in store

For You

A butterfly lands on my shoulder, blue in all his glory

And in the distance it’s the cries,

mellow and celebratory,

Regaling the tale

Of Your valiant, clutch-time victory.