The old man on the phone
Sitting in the corner all alone
Talking on the phone
His face sagging
His eyes red
Silently as his jowls quiver to keep back the sobbing
And his mouth opens to talk low and halting
The conversation seemed to turn devastating
And no one around him seemed to see the man rapidly saddening
But I did
Just watching his pain
Writing this poem contemplating
Wether I should go and comfort him
And I do get up wondering
If he saw me as I quickly hurry away
Tag Archives: feelings
The old man on the phone
You walk alongside me day in and day out
Stout and tall like I am
Both knowing and being the darkest part of me
What would you say to me?
Would you judge me for my every action?
Tell me things I am afraid to speak of?
You would be the median to my arrogance or cowardliness at the time
The Yang to my Yin
If only you were able to speak…
The knowledge you probably possess is profound
You have great abilities, such as projecting yourself in more than one direction
Being able to stretch varying distances
Yet you only exist if I do, so I feel like a hindrance
We share the same life but you are the better half in my opinion
Maybe I envy your peaceful existence, and you deserve mine so you can live out life
At times I feel like the shadow of myself, while you were meant to be…the part of me which strong and true.
Dwindling thumbs, my brain tingling from rum, I must be dumb
To not know how to present myself
Alas, there I sat on my top shelf
Staring down as I felt – the hands of another running on my leg. The touch shared a vibrant warm, misleading with intentions unknown. Sweet lips, tasty like a ice cream cone. An embrace equal to the oblivious nirvana Budda placed emphasis on. What do I take from this? I don’t know if it’s permanent but I will enjoy this endeavor until the last bell tolls….. DING!
I feel cold…inside and out. It was traumatizing just to even say such a thing to her. Letting out all of those thoughts was a true challenge, I almost couldn’t bear it. Yet there I sat, with my face adamant and stern. How could I even bring myself to continue the conversation, how could I add more insult to injury? Telling her I don’t know if I’m still in love with her was tragic enough, let alone me adding in the fact that I may be attracted to other women who share similar interests with myself…and to this day I will forever cherish Gavree in my heart. Sometimes I ask myself if she is the one for me, sometimes I think she only clings to our very relationship because “it is comfortable and feels right”. At the end of it all, I am confused still…yet I want to play it out to see how it is suppose to be in the end. Time will tell and The Lord will show me what Must do. Until then, I will follow my heart and try to fix the love that seems broken between us, hopefully the spark she once had in her eyes will return to ignite my passion towards her.
“I get it!”
He yelled from inside the car.
“Sometimes it is hard to take the leap.”
As if through the dreary haze of a dream, I remember something
The desert and the canyon.
The hopelessness and the feelings of being lost.
The bitter taste…
“You just gotta let go!”
He flicked his cigarette at me.
“Who are you?” I yell back, my head pounding.
“I am a nobody.
A no one.
Someone undefined as of yet.
The beginning of something new
and that endless possibility of what is to come!”
I shook my head violently.
The signs and the anger drumming in my head were overwhelming.
It all needed to end.
Those horrible images of a pointless life
“That’s who I am.”
“Who are you?”
My eyes widened, flitting from the dark ledge of the unknown
back to the shadowy silhouette of the man with no name.
Sweet existential understanding broke through the clutter of past things.
That’s not who I was anymore.
“I am you.”
I stumbled forward
learning to walk again, gesturing for him to move to the passenger side.
Now was my turn to drive.
He smiled that scary smile.
Scary with all the things that now could be.
I closed the door and he shut his
as he talked of how the possibilities were endless now
life was for me to bend again
through the insight I have gained
The past was merely a springboard
from which to launch
with lessons learned
and tales to tell.
Nothing to define the man to come.
That’s not who I am any longer.
I punched the accelerator.
The piece of shit lurched forward into the darkness.
For a moment we flew
Toward a bright
I close my eyes.
Thinking of the metaphor of the ledge.
“That’s not who I am…
The sun was just breaking when I waked.
Gasping for breath, sitting straight in the uncomfortable car seat.
The little light just beginning was orange, purple and blood red.
It was enough to show me the wide expanse of desert
bathing in the blooming colors, soaking up the first bit of understanding.
I leaned back in the seat letting the heat warm my cold body
resurrecting in a way, allowing me to feel new.
Blinking I reached for my cigarettes,
craving the menthol flavor
to mask the bitter metallic flavor left in my mouth.
After a few drags
I twisted it into the wood paneling
chucked the rest
allowed a deep breath
and a grateful smile
started up the car
and began to drive.
I had many miles to go.
The adventure had just begun anew.
There once was a man, who hated his name,
the history and the definition that came with it.
But that man died-
Leaving behind only a license and a social security number to show he was there.
With those was a note,
written in hastily excited letters:
“That’s not who I am.”
And so we went
with nary a word into the dark night.
The headlights illuminated little around us
leaving us with a dim understanding of where we were going.
That was for the best,
I tried to convince myself.
That was all apart of this letting go theme.
But was this who I am?
My eyelids were starting to fall.
I looked over at the man with no name.
Saw his silhouette waving in and out of focus,
He’d moved onto smoking a joint
and singing under his breathe with the Goldberg Sisters.
I saw shinning tears running down his cheeks.
I wipe away the salty wet from my cheeks
and just as I fall asleep he punched the radio off,
“That’s not who I am.”
I woke up when we came to a screeching halt.
My head flung forward and then snapped back.
screamed the man with no name.
My foggy eyes cleared quickly, panicking about what could have happened.
I jumped out of the car.
He was just standing at the edge off to the edge of the headlights.
Back to me.
Cautiously I joined peering into the murky darkness the lights tried to pierce.
My eyes widened.
We stood on a precipice of a gorge.
“Marla was right!
You might die at any moment.
The fucking tragedy?
“Would have killed us?” I yelled, in fright,
He winked at me,
“That would have made you a murderer!”
He winked at me again with a scary smile,
“That’s not who I am.
Who are you?”
Walking toward the car, he let out a barking laugh.
My vision went funny and my body began to ache.
Then they came in big billboards
that passed me on this stagnant road right by the ledge.
I saw Lowell being built in the Industrial Revolution.
Flashing before me I witnessed Kerouac sitting at his typewriter,
my parent’s pointless mundane lives,
the banking job I had,
the kids poking fun
(that pain still burning).
Showing me fully connected to the social media of the day-
Showing me a slave to the entirety.
I felt sick as I fell to my knees covering my eyes.
“Why is this happening?”
“Showing you a Jack’s wasted life.
“That’s not who I am.”
He winked again with that scary smile.
Walking toward the car, he let out a barking laugh,
“That’s not who I am!”