Constellation Blues

Category: Writings (page 2 of 2)

Only until 1am

Sharp cuts from the light of stars
A cold wind and constant glances backward
Into the darkness, avoiding the chasing trails.

Feeling misunderstood with every word
And wishing to go home when the stories are over
Meandering journey, only to waste my time.

Walking on the world’s clearest ice
And wishing to see his face when the ghosts are gone
His face, or a memory, both the same reflection.

Staring into the Sun.

Why is it a memory I can’t forget; why do I follow it?

The blinding sun and my willingness to stare into it.
Before only trusting in finding happiness in the light of faraway stars.

The day like today, was a day like then…
When as a ghostly clock, I followed and hoped to predict your arrival and disappearances.

The black violets, the boy against the glass.
The sun above and the maze of ugly hallways.

Today, a memory again.
And again.

Hello friends, I’m starting to worry we might not win.

a lost letter

memories skimming across the milky way
ageless threads pulled out
a voiceless glance into the darkness

the wait is over
and a moment of reunion

a smile flashing
after years of isolation
against the wall
in the crowded room

the wait is over
the beginning of happiness.

War: Never Changes.

a shadow following humanity
in the shape of a willow
small leaves drip off
jagged edges slice the headstones.

the past breathes:
branches reach in all directions.
written in DNA, the seam on the heart
pulls apart the immortal stars.

too cold and the crickets quieted
the shadow skirts the edges
of a soul looking to be whole
from a war: never changes.

-Marlena Myles
War: Never Changes.

A Working Memory

Dying to share his thoughts, he would call in the middle of the night.  Reading to me an essay or speech, I was amused by his mind’s eagerness to share its delighted news.

Yet, he never remembered anything I said.

Even worse, he never remembered he already excitedly told me his thoughts.  Again and again, the same life-changing essays.

I’m one of those people who can never allow others finish what they’re saying without interrupting, but I somehow never had the heart to interrupt his passionate phone calls to say, “I’ve been thoroughly informed of those thoughts… By you”~

Let you go, little butterfly.

Happy journeys on your migration. I’ll keep growing flowers, to find another butterfly that doesn’t keep looking backwards at the smoldering ashes of what once was.

Go on, move forward, little butterfly.

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