we are nowhere

7/30/2019 We Are Nowhere

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We Are Nowhere

Please Wake UpMatthew Trask


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WE ARE NOWHEREPLEASE WAKE UP

Matthew Trask


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Contents

The Stars

Half of a Life

Prelude

The Lovers Waltz

Evolution

To Live

Paid in Full

Talentless

SuicideNight Bred

Someone Who Cared

In The Way

To Have

To Hold

National Pride

Free

Time

Falling Down

The Electric Buzz of Electric ChildrenErasure

Truth

The Suburbs

Graffiti

To Die

Firework

Childhood

Adolescence

The End

The Spirit of Times


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The Stars

Each eve I stare above,

a wide-eyed stupefaction

fills my heart.

The moons gleaming light cast a warm palm upon the Earth

as it hangs, a Blue marble in the blanket of space.

it waits, wrapped up inside the black tarp

hidden In the pocket of god.

I look with a child like glare,

feeling as well as seeing.

Knowing, but not yet understanding

the universe of grand reality before me.

I hark back to the bedtime stories of great exploration

and remember the globe placed upon my mantle.

A spotted canvas lit a pale white

with fountains of color hidden beyond vision.

The orchestra of life rings in my ears,

as all of time exists in front of me.

The youth of a million years

holds within that single view.

Like a thousand eyes

they watch over us on the land below

as we watch them change.

We evolve, create and grow

as we search for true meaning.

The stars hold my message.The stars hold my truth.


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Half of a Life

One man walks a fine line

treading the gap between two worldsas fear of losing one grips

and vows to never let go.

With that thought in mind

the man packs a bag and leaves both worlds

hoping and skipping beyond

the crack betwixt the lives seals.

This man had endured all eventualities

had suffered all pains,like a time traveler he saw all of life

yet somehow his diary is only half full.

A true understanding of him

cannot be had without the end to his story

as the end fundamentally answers the questions

we so seek ultimate answers to.

This man is us all

treading our lives carefully

as if to keep a balance between worlds

and to not stumble into something more.

In death we will understand

the final moments of this mans life

meant nothing to the years preceding

because its not ever after death that matters.


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Prelude

Across Great Plains he traversed

fighting the will of storms and threading

the eye of a needle.

He lifted his hood to block sand and sun

as he pushed on

only bread and water in his bag.

A woman stood by his side

each step they took together

attached by a bond greater than love.

Their journey was to be long

an arduous miles to walk

each other's embrace the only comfort.

A sea of loneliness stretched forth

and a single star guided them through lives,

as their past forked and unraveled behind.


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The Lovers Waltz

Now they dance towards a cloud of uncertainty,

their bones aflame with burning embers

of passion and desire

to craft and create and birth a new world

like the world found at Atlantics edge

hosting little but the child like skin of new borns

unconscious to the ideas of truth

yet strangely ignorant to the problems of us.

Instead these men and women and children

live at peace with little artificial emotion

and awake with the world in a way that we find cold,

our cynical minds have left us a alone

in a state of loss forever like those whom aren't written

in the stones of past minds, they are but etchings

fading in the minds of us

as tomorrow grows father from our reach.

A halos light lifts from our self enlightened souls

as we wallow in our bitter ignorance

and fear the wrath of what we have neglected

like a child, unwanted and unloved but needed

to fulfill a part within

that crafts our core, soft and warm

to be molded to cry tears of any sort

and to leave behind a wealth of ink and blood

though knowledge is a legacy fought best for.

They taught us so much in our little time,

as lovers we held each other closer that eve

as we were more connected to the life of earth and sea

and the wind had calmed and the rain had washed fear,our brows furrowed and backs arched, we soared with vast wings

towards our future together as man and woman

and we will make a stand for our love

and we will waltz a dance so placid that the seas will stop void

and our bleak facade will crumble showing potential.


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Evolution

We live in a world of weak and strong.

Some seek to strike at the heart.

Others wish to do good while others wrong.

Is it possible for us to gain new life from this?

This building has weak foundations and will thus crumble.

Better design may have prevented the destruction

but in the end we all die.

What is the reason for evolution?

The reason for mankind to move from one day to the next.

Surely that reason rests at the heart of humanity.

But if death is an inevitable caller,

waiting with its knell poised age to take our souls from our bodies

and to bury us under a mount of earth six feet deep.

Why change and improve.

The truth is feel is far away.

But I rest in one simple idea:

Life is more than death.


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To Live

A gentle man sits on a stool,

His crooked fingers rest on crooked keys.

He listens to the wind as it brushes his ear

And he focuses on the worn wood in front of him.

Then he begins to play.

First the cords are melancholic

And the man is sad.

We see this as he is hunched over the piano hiding face.

His is the beard of a desolate man

Left alone in a cycle of neglect on the side of the road.

Rain splashed and alone,

This man is nothing as society sees him.

Though this nothing sits at the piano and mourns.

He mourns a life lost to love

And he lists his failures unashamedly

As he has now been forgiven.

This man then stands, kicking the stool from beneath him.

We see his torrid and scarred body

And the tattoos that tell years

As he stands by the piano

No longer mourning the past,

But instead playing a melody of tomorrow

And hoping that it can grow from his arid lands

As the tree does in fallout.

So this man is to die?

This man and his weathered pianoIn the wilderness and green pastures of life.

No, this man is to live as he has reason to.


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Paid in Full

Money leaks, corrupts and seeds hate.

Banks steal, cheat and get away with murder,

leaving little men to starve on the little they have.


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Talentless

Her face awash with a popular mask

though sadness is caked beneath

the narcissistic facade.

Then she crumbles from the tower to the ground,

scrambling to retain her Kingdom

as it separates and breaks.

Here abstract morals

crush fear into her mind

as those who once loved her

fire flames of distrust and disinterest.

Now she is nothing but a hollow shell,

left alone to work for love and life.

Once the Queen bowing to none

has now left and grand reality has struck.

She is a human without beautiful talent.


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Suicide

A fingers prick.

A light stab to the skin.

How it feels to be torn from another.

That thought pops into mind

as consideration for death fades.

Ill never do it.


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Night Bred

From my door, a thin shaft of light glows.

A saber striking the dark,

breaking the concentration of a sleepless mother.

I am up as the night serves me better.

In day the light distracts

from what dark allows focus.

I grow, change and feel the dark

although the music I hear exudes light.

Now I am happy and the night is partly responsible.

I am alive and breathing.

My heart beats to the drum of life

and that pain is numbed.

For I am bred in the dark of night

and as I sit here, the warm LCD shadow cast on my face,

I know who I am.


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Someone who cared

For Her,

Know one said Id adjust straight away.

Your dainty smile and full lips

went unnoticed and my being inept

made me fall short.

Id furrow my brow and hope

that someone would find me.

That my loneliness would soon

fade like the damp winds of spring.

Warm and close, when nobody else was

at my side to help me through.

To call you perfect would be

a disservice to your artistry.

That open way in which you talk

frank about your thoughts.

Your delicate face merely masks the

stone, strong woman beneath.

Some part of me wishes

I was stronger than this.

My words of anonymity.

My vague string of ideas collating.

I wish I were able to tell you this.

Although my feelings I assume arent shared

I feel good knowing you cared.

You have helped me, I am better now.


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In the way

To you I say, Im sorry,

Im sorry that awkwardness prevents the words

from escaping the perpetual hold of mind.

I fear that she wont know my love

as cowardice and lacking confidence hinder speech.

Force me into confrontation and Id lieand squirm until I was free from the bounds of situation.

As I lay my head to pillow my mind froths with thoughts

and they build a delicate picture of her smile.

Beneath my fear I know I have it.

The spark to tell her she is the piece Im missing.

To myself, I say Im sorry.

Ill get out of your way some day.


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To Have

So much you gave me.

A small package to tightly dense with beauty

and passion that body lusts for you

and mind loves you.

Your words true and eyes steeped in mystique

yet ideas are laid out for all to see.

Opinions and feelings arent bottled withinbut thrown into the world to be battle with by others.

I wish my words would allow me to tell you directly.

Instead I sit here Night Bred and alone

with only my thoughts as a brush,

painting a picture of you on the page.

Artists yearn for their one muse.

A muse, which I have found.

Words cant justify you for what you are.

The most sublime vixen to ever be seen by man.


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To Hold

To be with you would be satisfaction enough.

Some men want more than they can ever have

and live lives so large that the littler man is broken

to shards of person and self scattered to the winds

and left to burn in the sultry sounds of hell.

Though I lust and desire I need only one thing.

Tis you, my oxygen.

You I need to have and to hold.

Men know not how to treat their woman.

Only objects with which to abuse and then throw to the wind.

Beneath their veneer of sly love exists a false faade

needed to cover their one true lust.

I feel deeper than face value

I may have a false faade but I know what I feel.

And what I feel I more than just lust.


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National Pride

I see them wear their flag upon their sleeve

And march forth with their hearts full of pride.

I glare on with a lorum ipsum badge pinned to my flesh

And I stand still with a heart full of envy.

The mountains encroach like prison walls

And the perpetual sky thick with endless grey

Dulls the blade of inspiration

And draws the bow of melancholy.

Though, when sun embraces valleys of green

And the smell of fresh cut grass fills the air,

My heart swells with pride

And I look out at the land of my fathers

And wholesome humility brushes over me

For I am thankful for my place in this world.


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Free

For those lost to war and violence

In memorium today for yesterday.

Whom once walked are now firmly within

as earth has become a grave for those lost.

A young girl tossed aside like rubble

burnt and branded an outcast

to be killed in a fire of hate.

A man lives to hurt and maim

And for those who stood against

We say thank you.

Today we live free,

as the tyranny of yesterday

lives in the hearts of the fallen.


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Time

The face of the clock stares back.

An eye peering forth into the future.

The small hand strikes away seconds of life

and the large hand, hours.

We wait until the day when our clock stops.

The day when those hands no longer tick.

The instance when time is frozen.

A perpetual hold on the second and the hour.

Time is ticking along.

So much is wasted.

We strive to understand our symbiotic relationship

as it clocks on, leaving us in its wake.


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Falling Down

Down I fall.

Out of control.

A leaf in fall.

Loosing to gravity.


22/36

The Electric Buzz of Electric Children

The night alight with sound

from broken hearts adrift in loss

each other and love we found.

Yesterday has broken me

yet tomorrow seems to grow brighter

as you found me at the bottom of the ditch and set me free.

The rumble in our stomach churns

and the smell of rich sonic heaven lusts inside

and with each road walked and each corner turned,

We know who we are together.

A pair of dancing children still flaming with a virgin light

who spread illustrious wings readying to take sweet flight.


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Erasure

If I had a line through which another line struck

Id have nothing.

This was how I expressed thoughts and feelings.

An erasure that leaves me alone with but scribbles on a page.


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The Suburbs

Desperate housewives make light of their inequities

as husbands scrupulously mask their infidelity.

A keen eye may notice those who once were lovers

are now mere shells cutting at their wrists

for a chance to feel again.

Companionship for loves sake is an overrated pleasure

as it is sex that drives society.

Primal urges focus the intent of our neighbors

as malicious misery echoes through the plastic streets.

We all feel pain and younger than most often hurt more,

but as our end draws near I ask one thing;

Do you really know what happens in suburbia?


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Graffiti

For lovers

Sam and Lilly forever,:

etched upon the wall.

A string of words that love a lifetime

like a thousand pictures.

The flick of the R

The hook of the L

The cave of the S

They exist to capture a story

In a string of five words.

Graffiti on the walls of their hearts.


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To Die

The gentle man sits upon his box.

He sips his brew and grins tenderly

As poesys and sunflowers are tossed six feet within.

He almost laughs at the concept.

Men hold the hands of their women

And they gather around the gentle man

Celebrating the joy of his passion

And never mourning passing loss.

His night is the dawn of a memorys day.

Gone in body but not in spirit

As hearts and minds hold his paternal image.

His music echos his life in the ears ofus all.

He sits on his box

resting his crooked fingers on the crooked keys,

as his sons and daughters gather round his burning fire

and sing songs of life and love.

This green pasture has flourished

And the tree has grown in fall

And the blanket of brown has faded to reveal

His grave.

The flowers rest on the unmarked mound

And his song is stabbed into the grass.

Though he is gone we hear his voice.

The final crack on the piano.

The gentle man hasnt died.

To die is to live.This man who, in life, wandered and taught,

Left a mark that scratched deep into the skin of the earth.


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Firework

The match struck like conversation.

The defining stop at the sentences cliff

Becomes a patient ball of light.

It hangs upon the edge of the world.

On the tip of a tongue.

It waits for the perfect moment,

Before the fire hits its fuse

And the sky is born a beautiful bright.

The fireworks end is but a beginning.


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Childhood

Hilltops in the distance sit wearing hats of snow

Glancing like wise men upon the people below.

I stare from the window of class at their faces

The mills poking like flowers from their caps.

These hilltops look on with disappointed brow

As I engage them in a staring contest.

Farmhouses glare back at me as pupils

And a beard of trees provides a veneer of respectability.

With an attitude of angst and beat

Id turn from the hilltops, blissful in my arrogance

As they silently judged me at the gates of hell

Waiting for my passing to be mourned.

Questions burned on the tip of my tongue

And my identity unraveled before me like a tapestry of lies

Hiding the truth from me beneath age.

Id grow lost and weary as their eyes burned into the back of my head.

A thousand years past and I remained fixed to that position

Still under the stone of the hilltops.

Slowly theyd pile around my feet until I drown.

Seeds of doubt flourish and my judgment had come.

I leave and return home a new man,

Sweating and breathing following exertion.

Id place bare feet on the cold floor

Looking out with tired but open eyes,

As the world grew in front of me

And the once dark future became bright.

The hilltops smiled, holding their caps to their chests

As I marched proudly on their backs.

Towards my new dawn I broke

Until I saw them all, lined like gems in a ring.

The bounds of family faded and I fell into line,

Grieving no more as I had gained back what Id lost.


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Adolescence

A half written story on a tablet melting in the sea.

They race upon the highway of children,

And the tapestry unravels further in front

Showing tomorrow solidifying.

The pen hangs over the page with bated breath

And future knocks on the door.

Life had been dormant under a wealth of control.

Now an eruption has set it free to bite at my heels,

Challenging my path and editing my world.

Still they hang in my mind

Like baubles on a Christmas tree,

Glinting beautifully in the silver light,

But pulling on the branches on which they sit.

The songs prepare you for loneliness

But its true brutality cuts when the tapestry leaves dark

What you need to be light.

My body aches and pulls for something

To hold and acknowledge its reality.

Skin tingles and hands tremble

As sexuality beckons with its mirror of imperfection.

Sands move on, corroding the one who never arrived

As she wonders through and beyond,

Unknowing of my arrow struck like erasure

Through the poetry of love.

Avoidance is my fear of red faced scorn

Though lust drives a sense of passionLost on a forbidden fruit to be left on the tree.

A ripe red apple, smiling in the light.

Blood courses through me as her fall hair

Lands gracefully on her shoulders.

Her lips like red pillows underlining a blinding smile

And growing out to her fair and soft cheeks.

My chest pulled forward like a compass pointing to its true north

Yearning to hold her and to love her.A glass barrier of situation grew


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And like the slow drip of water, drove one moonstruck.

Childhood was but a memory

Passing by in the wing mirror as we drove into the sunset,

A romantic notion filled with fiction

As the sun was as dark as charcoal

And the open eyes began to grow heavy

Closing under duress.

Seasons past and frailty set in.

My mind crumbled like a castle made of sand.

My pillow became stained with blotted loss

And reality struck like lightening

Electrifying my soul to the brink.

Putrefying all romanticism within my ideology.

Tomorrow maybe growing clearer,

But its ship is to be captained and crewed by one man.

One man alone, holding a torn map

And a compass that points only towards what you need most.


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The End

The final full stop

On the final page

Of the final chapter

Of the final novel,

Of humanity

Is placed with a sigh

By a lonely man

Who sings a hymn.

Goodbye echoes,

As pen and paper

Are still.

The man looks up

At grey heavens

And sees his back

Firm and disillusioned.

The failures are struck

Like names on a list

Off the face of the earth.

The garden has rotted

From its wholesome core

And has left a heap

Steaming and brewing

As it sits stoic

In its labored filth.

The man leaves the book

And walks off the cliff.

The wind glides by

And his hair is softened

And his arms outstretched

And his eyes closed.

His naked body falls

And fallsUntil the horns of hell

Take hold.

His baby soft flesh,

Blemish free,

Is cut and torn from his bones

And he is bled arid

By the razors blow.

Teased by a glimpse of life,

He is beaten without death.

He is broken with out healingAnd he is chained to the rod


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That runs the length of his spine.

He awaits the sodomites

The murderers, the rapists

The child molesters,

The politicians, the lawyers,

The actors, bankers,

The fraudsters,

The Muslims, the Hindus,

The Buddhists,

The violent, the weak,

The strong, the tepid

And he awaits the mirror.

The mirror of sin

That balances his mind

And baths him in truth.

Then the cycle begins again

And mercy shall not come.

The embers slither up his legs,

Biting at the flesh and cooking the bone.

Then an arm reaches from darkness

Into thick, murky light.

The arm of freedom offers salvation.

The way is clear and hell grows distant.

Suddenly the garden grows fresh roots

And his skin is baby smooth

And the sky pale blue.

He sees his body healed in the pool

And then his lover stands.

The hand then grows a body

And then a face.

You deserve freedom speaks the face.

The face then fades

And the garden solidifies.

The mirage of his lovers naked being

Grows tangible and he runs.The man whose full stop ended life

Had now found peace in the garden.

Where flames had bitten his thighs,

He found his lovers hands.

Where blades had cut his chest,

He found his lovers lips.

Where pain had once flayed

He found his lovers pleasure.

This sin that so hung around his neck

Had been revealed,And it had beauty beyond all dreamt of.


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Then the man placed the rope by the side of the book

And he placed the pen between the two.

The blotch that punctuated his ending

Became a comma, breathing new life into his tomorrow.


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The Spirit of Times

Be the best of us

As you sit there on your stool

Listening intently

Though fidgeting indefinitely.

The zeitgeist evades you,

Always Reeling in eternal optimism

And always forgetting the past

As the future calls.

The spark sets alight a burning flame

That we watch with mouths a gape

And eyes wide and glazed with awe.

Making hate not love, you live.


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Ifyouve read this collection ofbeginners poetry let me take this chance to

thank you. If you liked it please share it with anyone and everyone. Print it off

and give it to your family. Give a copy to your dog or cat or anything. I hope

you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it!

Copyright Matthew Trask 2013


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