The stream (all workshops)
Sunsets
Written by Kelly Ann Wilson
I look for you in sunsets
When the leaves change in the fall
I find you in your daughter
When I need to be strong
I look for you in your old truck
I still pass by around town
I wear your warm plaid jacket in the northern winter
When I walk this country ground
I look for you in music
For a sign in the darkest times
When someone is in need of kindness
In your gifts that became mine
I laid the brick-and-mortar by hand.
One block for every time he hurt me.
One for every time he lied to me.
One for every time he betrayed me.
Ashlar as far as the eye can see.
I learned to tread lightly around topics like
my feelings
my thoughts,
my dreams.
Those were always triggers for him.
I learned not to ask about
his friends,
his plans,
or where he’d been.
Somehow, I always ended up apologizing.
Open mouth to speak
But no words come out
Trapped inside, quivering
Hidden behind a silent shout
I cannot tell you that I love you
Because it will hurt too much
When I have to say goodbye
So I continue to lie
I cannot tell you that I hate you
When you choose her over me
Turning our passion
Into bitter memories
I cannot tell you that you're special
How you made me feel like a woman
And not just some man's play toy
I am forever grateful
For 5 years I’ve watched myself from a distance
Been enraged, and at peace, with my existence
Stubbornly enslaved to my hormonal visions
Unnecessary weight on all my decisions
I’ve taken comfort in being a follower
Discontent until they said “Yeah I like her”
Maybe if I spent less time with my reputation,
I might have found the reason for my desperate need of admiration
If melancholy was an ocean,
I’d be drowning, with names of forgotten souls weighing me down
like they do in my memories
A remorse that can’t be told.
I skip the wakes for the things I helped die
from time and time of neglect
A guilt I can’t escape
For joining something I could easily forget
A remorse that can’t be told
I’m pained when I oversee the obvious
my oblivion always reigns supreme
people’s efforts go unnoticed
as their dedication is dismissed
A remorse that can’t be told
With sun upon my weathered face
On mountain trail with stream below,
I walk this trail and think about
The beauty nature has to show.
So many things bring pleasure
Like whispered tales from trees,
Or the touch of nature's kind embrace
All the senses sure to please.
The beauty of the flowers
The vastness of the sky,
I close my eyes and listen
To the birds that sing on high.
When you read my words
In typeset or handwritten
Committed to lined pages
Or tapped purposefully
Through a spider’s web of cracks
On a tired smartphone screen
Beamed to the cloud
At near light speed
You become a traveler
A transcendental being of time
Radio antenna in the darkness
Of my lonely existence
Observers at a dusty window
Wiping detritus off the panes
Gaining insights to yourself
Through my own experience
Having been provoked to thoughts
Which otherwise might not have come
There's jobs I've had, jobs I've wanted
there's ones I've never tried
I've worked a lot of the hard ones
indoors and those outside
I've been a paperboy, a roofer
cut wood and mowed some lawns
Worked in factories, sprayed trees
got up at the crack of dawn
Muddy footprints down my trail
oh, the paths that I have trod
There's some that I would eschew
there were plenty that were odd
Laying lifeless in a distant field
there i was
empty inside, beat down
my heartbeat faded with every breathe
my heartbeat grew more silent with time
with my last gaze at the setting sun
there lay an alluring figure
a prepossessing sight for my lifeless eyes
a bolt of lightning struck my fading heart
a rush of adrenaline ran through me
goosebumps formed on my frail skin.
i felt alive again, a love war veteran had,
had suddenly pummeled through his fears
for a long time i had given up, been shot,
What if a man on a bike wears pink blouson sleeves or,
an old lady pushes her dog in a pram, to walk her cat in the rain?
What if the tiles on my neighbour’s roof are a skate park,
rising and falling, like a pillow sagging in cloudburst?
What if squawking corvids reach their zenith and
I join them in their Hitchcock murder scene?
What if this is real and not a failure of unsheathed brain
wires interrupting signals to send vague pictures?
What if I step into traffic because I can't see silver cars,
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