Fire

She would have made a ring around the rosie had she recognized it to be a rosie in the first place. 
Her feet left blazes in their path, a forest fire on legs.
Her hands crafted sleep in more ways than one. 
Pockets were filled with a posie more lethal than good. 
It wrung a curtain over her mind of stirred embers and dancing flames. 
Had she been able to pull it back, she might have stopped her slumbering wake. 
But before she knew it...
Ashes, ashes. They all fell down. 

~E

A Quick Survey

A quick survey, if you will. Answer with thoughts, and I'll listen still.

“What is Life?”

Some of the results:

"Shit."

"What does it always come back to me?"

"Life is great."

"Shit times two."

"Life is good."

"Ball?"

"I don’t know."

"Saddening."

"It's not a simple question."

"I feel like life is just about different difficulties and your power to overcome them. All it is is one big test."

"I don't know how to explain it."

"People change people by helping the people who have less than we do."

"Oh. Oh." (Shakes head)

"42."

"Is horseradish an instrument?"

"Well, it's apparently when carbon based creatures are still ambulatory."

"That's a deep question."

What is it for you?

~E

Change the Letter

Bell

Belt

Felt

Feet

Beet

Beer

Deer

Dear

Pear

Peal

Seal

Teal

Tear

Fear

Rear

Real

Deal

Dual

"Oh the places you'll go."

~E

Soulmates

During the brief existence of my other life, I had deemed it appropriate to give us all alter egos so that we would be prepared should the world ever cross us.

For him, it was Carlos. And Carlos was an idiot.

If someone were to ask me to describe Carlos, all I would need to do is show them myself. Dopplegangers are easy to find for appearances; just look at any set of identical twins. Dopplegangers of the soul are much more elusive. To claim such a discovery is to question the probability of fate itself. Fate, however, has had a tendency of bearing its teeth for me on more than one occasion.

Carlos was...no. He is. Carlos will always be such a weak spot in the cosmos.

~

As for her, it was Max, born of a novel that has blossomed hate from love. Not identical in Freudian makeup, but we swim like yin to yang in the perfect cycle of compliment. We have few things in common, but the most personal is our eyes.

I was born with blue eyes that have, arguably, diminished down the grayscale. Not bright, not like silver; dull, like stone. Looking back, I greatly underappreciated them.

When we grew close enough that I could look into her eyes, I found them as my own but harboring a secret. The gray churned like clouds with wisps of bright yellow for the accompanying lightning. A storm. A perfectly hidden chaos.

And upon second glance, I realized my eyes were the gray of sleet, blue with ice and dark-rimmed.

~

Soulmates are an unspoken myth, but I have always nurtured the thought. Surely there are multiple versions of one’s perfect other but so few to have the chance to come by that we only believe there to be one. I found two at once; so that must mean there is another, perhaps even more fitting, waiting. I have no idea when that meeting will be.

But I’ll continue running.

~E

Where I'm From

I'm from letters written of a child's ignorance that haunt the nooks of a brothel rather than heaven itself. 
I'm from an illusion born of minds greater than mine that fell away when my own became greater. 
I'm from paper that catches my worlds since there's no way else to find them. 
I'm from the moon, a reflection of light that once was. 
I'm from the sea, endlessly churning back and forth between where I was and will be. 
I'm from a rainbow, the tangible kind that stains the subconscious. 
I'm from the fields where I can never escape regardless of my watch and compass. 
I'm from bindings that freed me to follow whenever I chose. 
I'm from a dichotomy that showed me all the sides of myself. 
I'm from the black, unknown to depth and temporal. 

~E

Returning Home

I thought that back then I had discovered a brand new plane, that somehow a meager middle school version of myself had carved the whole of southern Florida into a memory labyrinth. My 7 p.m. drive down memory lane proved otherwise. Granted, I had never drove around the area, especially not in the dark, but that night taught me two things.

Southern drivers are rather rude, and my grand labyrinth was actually a geographical box that spanned maybe two or three roads in either direction from my previous home.

It reminded me of a fish in a bowl. I had memorized every contour of that within the glass, but toss me out of the water and I might as well be on Mars.

Navigate Mars I did, though, all the way to her house. It was farther back in the neighborhood this time around. I blame the “labyrinth.”

I had my cry, sweet shudders traded from my shoulders to hers. The wait had been just as long as the last, but the gathering momentum of our years stretched its worth. Yet one step inside told me that all was well. A familiar dinner of unknown cuisine awaited me at a table that never moved with faces that never changed.

Many say that those you share blood with are your family.

No, it’s the ones that nurture you, bring to life the dormant soul that has been awaiting its chance to take on a new form.

Friends are the family you choose.
~E

How Weak

How weak I am
To wander a snowy wood when my toes scream for warmth.
How weak I am
To dissect stars when both light and dark squander my vision.
How weak I am
To stand watch with the witching hours when my dreams beg for dominance.
How weak I am
To seek a composure when my eyes compose a watery cocoon.
How weak I am
To observe when all I want to do is act.
How weak I am
To merely tremble when a path presents itself.

How positively weak.

~E

Water

She had seen every shade of blue there was to him.
The cheerful hue of a summer sky.
The playful wave of an ocean crest.
The dangerous glow of an electric spark.
The bitter ice of a lonely winter.
The echoing call of a mournful horn.
And the gallant robe of justice itself.

But to her he was the most special blue of all, for without him her breath of life would cease entirely.

~E

Over the Water

Movement I
The fish's sentry,
Yet man's heedless gatekeeper
A foot in two worlds.
Lake-rotten wood arms
Rise from their watery grave,
Preserving the bridge.
A hoarder of vistas,
Dawns of gold and dusks of dark,
With hush omniscience
Until weed and wave
Erode, splinter by splinter,
The dock stands, resolved.

Movement II
Dew-painted lotus,
Riding the nights dying breath,
Greets an amber dawn
Pearls resting among
Verdant lily pad forests
Home to bustling bugs.
Sun tears, gold to gray,
Cloudbursts second to blooms of
Solemn endurance.
Iv'ry petals glow,
Dancing beneath the moon and
A river of stars.

Movement III
The first wind of spring
Twirls the lotus on her toe
Over breaks of blue.
The dock gapes, bewitched
By her summer grace, and she
His wholehearted gaze.
For her, all his eyes.
For him, a thousand waltzes
Across autumn's drapes.
Petals kissed by ice
Adorn his winter suit
To bid him her farewell.

~E