A life spent
In search of hyacinth.
Little did I know,
It would bring such woe.
Category: Poetry
Growing
I know I have been stunted
Growing in this place
So far away from all that is bright
A darkness without light
A belt of wheat and God
Growing in this place
My life remained unclaimed
I only ever felt ashamed
written – July 15, 2018
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That Phrase
I’ve always hated the phrase
Where do you see yourself
In a year, in five, in ten years?
To the people asking the question,
I don’t know is never acceptable.
The truth is never a correct response.
Because the truth is that
I cannot see myself today
Let alone tomorrow, or even a year from now.
To the people asking the question,
Only the appearance of an answer matters.
After the question is asked and answered,
They get to go on about their day, oblivious.
While I am still left with the question.
Written – 03/10/2017
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I’ve had a guest in my house
I’ve had a guest in my house.
An unwanted visitor in my life.
One who’s overstayed his welcome.
In the morning, I wake up; he is there.
At night, I go to sleep; he is there.
Some days he’s even so bold,
He puts on my clothes, does the things I do.
He goes about my life pretending to be me.
A facsimile approximating what I want to be.
No matter how much I beg,
How much I scream and I cry.
He flat out refuses to leave.
All I want is to be finally free.
written – 03/09/2017
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Fountain’s Leak
There’s such a clarity,
Looking down,
Hands stained in ink.
I Don’t know, I guess I feel
authentically me.
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Quick!
Someone once said
Religion is the opium of the masses,
and maybe that was true
once upon a time
long before the vastly, interconnected world
we live in today.
Before the widespread reveal of abuses,
both of money and innocence.
Today, the Church has lost its power.
We have a new opium,
a more refined drug
that doesn’t subdue us
with fear of action.
No.
This new drug,
this heroin of ours
That makes us two dollar
Hookers on the corner street
in order to get our fix
is more insidious
than the opium of the past.
In every home in the world,
from the billion-dollar McMansions
to the shacks in the ghetto,
everyone has access.
See the part where our old opium failed
is that it banked on us being too afraid
to do something
whereas our new heroin
gives us everything we ever wanted
lulling us into doing nothing.
In the brief moments of silence,
somewhere
in the back of our head
we realize this.
Our Response?
Quick!
Change the Channel.
Written – 10/30/2015
Updated – 3/28/2024
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Am I a poet?
Am I a poet?
Or just some joker
Writing down words
No one will ever see
To satisfy some need
Misguided as it may be
To puff up my soul
Full of self-importance
Pretending some art
I do not have
But soothes some part
Of my myself by whimpering
Into the moonlight
Feigning some loneliness
Of an unearned pain
I do not have the right
Whatsoever to claim.
Or am I just a poet?
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Palm trees swaying
Palm trees swaying
Bodies in the sand
Sweetness glistens
Running between fingers
Water slides away
From the edge
Always wounding
Deep within me
Craving more and more
Thoughts come and go
written – 1/15/2023
akervand 