Jump

Jump,

You gently entreated.

I had already jumped,

But this time, I looked down.

My heart pumped fear to my mind,

And it seized me.

My thoughts were infected with self-doubt,

And I struggled between your voice

And the one in my head,

Between my body

And my conflicted mind.

I stumbled backward

As doubt darkened

The light you had thrown

Across my path.

I felt the ground beneath my feet,

Hardened by familiarity.

Fear dissipated, and

Blood rushed to my heart,

Bringing with it the heat of your words.

And the only voice left in my head

Was yours.

Jump.

The Sun will Rise Again

You tell me not to worry,

To smile, be happy,

Even when the skies are grey

And you’ve gone away.

You tell me to have faith,

To stand up, be brave,

Even under April’s rain

That stopped, only to pour again.

You tell me to be patient and wise,

To wait for the Sun to rise,

Because when his rays shine,

You’ll be back, you’ll be mine.

And so, under the darkened sky,

When my tears began to dry,

I sought solace in another light,

In the stars you left me in the night.

Doubt at the End of the Tunnel

They told me

There was light

At the end of the tunnel.

But they did not tell me

Where the light would lead.

Blindly I walked,

My fingers grasping at the wall,

Trying to find my way.

They did not tell me

That the tunnel split in three.

I took a guess.

I closed my eyes.

I could almost see the light.

“Up or down?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you going up or down?”

I’ll go wherever this thing takes me.

East or West

She stood at a crossroads

Split between East and West,

While the setting Sun made way

For the Stars at the Moon’s behest.

But the North Star would not help

Her decide which way to go,

So she stood there waiting

For Napoleon, waiting for Godot.

The night she spent on the dusty path,

Torn in self-contemplation,

Striving to discern through the darkened night,

Which road would lead to her soul’s exaltation.

But neither Napoleon emerged,

Nor messenger appeared,

And so she was left to her own judgment,

As she had always feared.

To the East, she thought,

She would face the light,

And leave the unknown darkness

Behind in the night.

Thus, when he rose,

She walked toward the Sun,

Not knowing the next day

Rode westward her Napoleon.

Comme l'Albatros (Like the Albatross)

Comme les ailes d’un aigle,
Son coeur bat,
Elevant son esprit
Aux cieux,
Tandis que, lui,
Maladroit comme l’albatros,
Il est empêché par la peur. 

Once in your Lifetime

I brought you flowers one day.
Small and fragile they were,
But a scent as luscious
As the locks upon your head
Diffused from their lips
As each one whispered to you
The secret of my cares.
Every crease upon my brow
That developed in your absence
Disappeared when you were near.
Every tendon spasmed
As your gaze pierced my bone.
But my cares you did not guard,
And their petals began to fall
Until you threw them all away.

And then, you saw I had been brave
When, years later,
You reflected on my sacrifice,
The open-wound
I faced to the sky where you stood,
Supremely distant.
Offering no balm,
You had showered acid rain,
And the rain from your memories
Turned into tears trickling down
The creased brow upon
Your trodden face.
And this time, you brought me flowers—
But you laid them on my grave.

Covered

On the bookshelf lies
A tightly bound book
With leather trim,
Prim and proper,
No pages bent out of shape,
Though old and faded—
Your gaze she both attracts and repels.
Barely used but aged,
She sits, waiting to be opened
One last time.

She tells a story of adventure,
Of risk, that stimulates the mind,
Body and soul,
A passionate tale,
Filled with both humor and pain,
Of purity, of desire,
Of loss and gain,
Echoing laughter,
Stained with tears.
Candor prefaces the pages
Dedicated to eternal beauty
Waiting to be unveiled.
Each metaphor challenges
The potential reader,
But should he uncover the meaning
In the literary ocean,
Our hero will reach the truth
Hidden in its depths.

However, none of this you know,
Because, before removing the book
Completely from the shelf,
You replace her,
And your fingers continue
To a softer neighbor—
One that has more oft been used.

She sneezes in the shifting dust and thinks:
If only you knew,
You would never have put me back down.