Closing Hours of Night, Opening Minutes of Day

The hour weighs heavily upon the eyes
As the moon shines its cold, white face.
Yet another hour writhes and dies.

Lonely streets lay quietly while their black faces fry
Beneath the heat of the watching lampposts’ blaze.
Somewhere, black cats shine in the night with their bright eyes.

Barren trees stretch disfigured limbs to an empty sky
While fallen leaves fester silently in a tangle of forgotten waste.
Somewhere, promises made are forgotten and left to die.

Wailing sirens tear the quiet of night as they scream and cry
Out in the dark. Flying lights blur the opaque scene with a haze.
Somewhere, bleeding men begin to close their eyes.

Dancing rays flitter across the celestial roof and return sight
To the blinking eyes of a waking vale.
Somewhere, defiant flowers bloom and vow to never die.

Glittering dew sparkles on cars who have forgotten the night
And wait patiently to begin the day.
Early birds shield their eyes,
Never thinking that the night had just died.

Waiting at the Bus Stop

The bus is running late again. Alone
At this stop, a roaring of dialogue
Rages itself, drowning the quiet drone
Of the city’s incessant monologue.
Bickering thoughts wrestle one another
Over what the explosions in the sky
Could be. Clouds? No. It’s not likely. Other
Ramblings of thinking question whether flight
Is possible while not wearing shoes. A
Flock of stampeding pigeons abruptly
Interrupts the sky with their little game
Of midair tag. My eyes stray from above
To the now resting goliath of steel
And bolts who shudders its breath before me.

Daniel Fernandez
English 7D
Spears
4/5/10
Poem #8

He quietly slipped off his shoes as he waded into the night.
The great silence was broken as he began to whimper,
“What a loathsome world, were no man lives in peace,
Where my own family is nothing but a band of strangers.”
The soft lapping of water was a gentle kiss
For the now weeping man. He edged closer to his eternal sleep.

He welcomed such a death as depression has long stolen his sleep.
Beads of sweat glistened upon his body like the shining armor of a knight.
The clouds above threatened rain as the sky was illuminated by a kiss
Of cackling lightning. Tears fell from the sky as if it too where whimpering.
The crying man was stunned by the rain. What a great strangeness
For the sky to feel his pain. The clouds had shattered, and were now falling in pieces.

The dark waters of the lake mimicked the man’s reflection back to him in pieces.
He hated what he saw and screamed into the night, trying to wake it from its sleep.
It was odd how such a great bellowing of sound went unnoticed by the strangers
In the trees. His fists trembled as he despised the arrogance of night
And cursed loudly into the air. There was not so much as a whimper
Returned. A wandering breeze passed across the man’s face, as if it were a kiss.

Tears poured silently onto his dried lips who had long forgotten the warmth of a kiss.
Thunder roared above, shattering his previous yelp to pieces.
The rain quieted and shrank to a soft whimper.
The cool embrace of night whispered for the man to fall into sleep.
It was too late to sleep. There would be no sleeping that night.
The rain stopped, and all eyes were on the man in the lake who seemed so strange.

He hated the creatures who stared at him. After all, they were stranger
Then he. The night became oppressive and the wandering breeze no longer offered a kiss.
What malice was being offered by the night.
The clouds above were strewn across the sky into an obvious scene of transgressed peace.
It was a disheartening view. The man felt more alone as the rest of the world slept.
Again, he sank into a quiet state of whimpering.

A passing wind rustled the leaves who mocked the man with their own whimpering.
The man laughed as he thought of those who once called him a stranger.
A deep pain weighed upon his heart and he again felt the pull of sleep.
His buckling knees sent ripples through the lake which kissed
Upon the shore. The anger felt began to break and the man felt the hope of peace.
It was time for him to finally sleep in this night.

It was this night which made him whimper.
This night that plunged his head into peace as he looked to the strangers
And blew them all kisses while they slept.

The Willow

I have long stared at that willow tree.
Her limbs quivered with each sob,
Her figure mussed with each breeze.
What a great tragedy life must have been for that tree.

Her limbs quivered with each sob
as they swayed, long forgotten by love.
What a great tragedy life must have been for that tree.
What a great towering of depression.

They swayed, long forgotten by love
those extensions of agony.
What a monstrous towering of depression.
What a loathsome blot on a smile.

Such a depiction of agony,
I seldom think of the willow tree
that was a loathsome blot on my smile.
Her figure scatters with each breeze.

The Captain and the Sea

Oh, am I not the captain of a sinking ship?
See how its bow breaks against the pressing tide.

Watch as the infinite black swallows
and crushes the weak frame like straw.

Imagine that dark and perilous trip
and how it coaxes the lost captain to oblige.

See the strange creatures who mock the hallows
of the ships travels and law.

Look now as the ship sits alone at the bottom of the sea
and how the captain weeps.

Acts 1-4

Bathed in the darkness
Standing in the biting cold
Patiently waiting

Tear into the sky
Strangle the night into day
The frost crawls away

The reign comes to end
And falters beneath the sky
Whimper away now

The white one rises
And smiles upon his friend
An unending quarrel.

The People I Have Known

I have known many a person
I have known those who prefer ketchup to mustard
I have known those who feel that shoes are useless
I have known those who only like certain people
I have known those who speak as though their tongues were taken from them
I have known those who have never tasted squid
I have known those who insist on wearing bows
I have known those who belong to a particular crowd
I have known those who thunder and crash on the most hollow of subjects
I have known those who eat only certain colors
I have known those who wear flamboyant socks
I have known those who do no like being in a group
I have known those who feel that conversation is a highly overrated phenomenon
I have known those who cannot taste their food
I have known those who cannot see their fashion
I have known those who cannot socialize
I have known those who cannot speak their words
I have known many a person.

Like wind to sand

Every step that I have taken,
is taken with uncertainty.
Every conclusion I have come to,
is likely to change.
I often find that green is usually black
and that gravity is not such a universal thing.
Instead, all that I know is like the river,
constantly eroding, evolving, and changing.
I can never step in that same river twice.
Belief is my strongest holding in life,
a desperate hope actually.
I am the existentialist who is
forever exiled from the dictates of common thought

Laying

As I lay, I feel the cold embrace of night
beckoning me into infinity.
A heaviness drapes about the eyes,
coaxing me into a deadly flirt with sure fatality.
I long for such things.
The blackness of this allure
is more than can be understood.
The cool wrap of night suddenly turns
into a sweaty hold.
Its clammy grip stretches across my body
and threatens the drapery
that adorns my eyes.
Surely, a freefall
into the scathing light
who mercilessly tears down my furnishings
And plunges me into a torturous
sea of fanged fish
who grab and tear at my body.

Stone

A bleak existence has always been the calling
Without it, I drift along in absolute meaninglessness

A dreary and cold life without love
Clouded only by pain and uncertainty
It is rumored that it even rained when i was born
How cruel it is to live against one’s will
An insufferable life
Am I not allowed this dark peace?
No.
I am the lightning in the rain
The passing wind
And the ever burning essence of existence
Standing through this soaked life
I am unsurpassed