The Monster

He walked alongside,

non-descript,

hoping to be noticed

in order to quell

such is the pain inside

of an insecure mind.

 

Started as a child,

one day he lost all hope

in the manifest of

life over death,

or the cruel hand of God

in what we call a miracle,

yet absurd,

inside the fear

is simple departure

of the one we love.

 

That internal flame,

became ignited

virtue of a confusion,

the wonder of why,

the angry response

to losing someone we love

at the hands of innocence,

where that person,

that wonderful being,

is cut short.

 

A woman recently,

suggested I take the knife out of my back,

its is a long line to

understanding

why we carry the demons we do,

when in reality,

if we could just live our lives,

we might

discover

a certain peace,

the one we see

in the eyes of those

we may never know.


© Thom Amundsen 3/2020

Always An Urgency

We talked about the human condition,

how certain tendency

would remain years later,

the same,

decades of programmed imagination,

falling into the same pattern

some unforgotten imprinting of our soul.

 

Yet tonight as I stand here

on the same ledge of forty years ago,

I wonder what really has changed,

oh there is the picture that I once did create

together not alone,

altered forever now

with only speculate conclusion.

 

Tonight I wonder of deception,

the loss of meaning,

the further resounding defeat of purpose,

when two people no matter

still become lost in their own travel,

having let go of the other

until just a glance inside the wake

of every cresting wave,

when then they do disappear

no longer seeing …


© Thom Amundsen 2/2020

Finding Voice

I walked outside and screamed at the bottom of my driveway,

only because I knew no one would notice,

well, they did, and their doors shut,

I stood in my neighborhood and felt completely alone.

 

The manicured lawns,

similarly styled rose gardens,

the roof repair and invisible fences,

street signs that suggested we all slow down.

 

I glanced around and decided to scream outloud again,

more doors shut,

the street seemed to empty in a silence

more apparent than I’d noticed before my unravel.

 

I stood there for a long time

watched kids on their bicycles take the corner before

having to coast past the man at the end of the driveway,

I realized for the first time I might have been noticed.

 

I walked back up to my garage,

played some music while drilling some wood,

the sweat on my brow, I wiped with my forearm,

I glanced at the street, a squad rode by … I waved.

Solo

If

while

barren

hallways

become invitations

are we lost

inside

our

own

fearful

conceptual

absolute reality.

Sitting alone

today

I ws forced

to imagine

where everyone

might choose to be

rather than with me,

yet instead crossed my mind,

the notion,

what compels me to hide

in empty spaces.

When there it seems

compelling

lately,

just recently,

really,

that I am the only one,

when another walks in the space

I occupy

solo.

In The Quiet

Her voice,

for years my guiding melody,

such sweet surreal

knowledge.

When I was a kid,

I remember wondering if

always unsure,

was she walking or going away,

the tears wouldn’t stop,

I waited,

that’s when I learned the true meaning

of abandon …

When I can sit and write these words,

how might I define the rivers in my eyes?

somewhere out there,

the sky so longing,

somehow I do know there is a reckoning,

yet my only wish as I

imagine

is that she might tell me how to get there.

For now I remain in the quiet of her memory.

I Remember Hallways

stairwells

I remember eyes wandering,

hiding behind cedar posts,

paying more attention to the tiles,

until common footsteps

might begin again.

My bench in the center of two seas

swaying toward and moving away

ascending and crossing paths

smiles and scorns

tired looks, and glaring fear.

I remember

hiding in plain sight

hiding in plain sight

hiding in pain’s flight

while all of you kept your lives in check.

I remember wondering

if the waves of human condition

might ever stop

might slow down only for a minute

a second or two of time,

always remember wandering,

or wondering,

where the lives belong,

where the time had gone.