LIFE CYCLES

RAINSTORMS

THE PASTOR’S VOICE ON THE RADIO

HAS NEVER CHANGED.

NOT ONCE IN THIRTY YEARS

WE SIMPLY JUST GREW UP.

 

IT IS OUR TURN

TO REPEAT OUR PARENTS’ MISTAKES

AND STEAM IN THE

HOTBLOOD

OF OUR YOUTH.

 

THE FERRIS WHEEL ROTATES

REACHING INTO THE SKY

ONLY TO STOP AT THE EARTH

SO WE CAN CLIMB OUT

AFTER SEEING HEAVEN.

 

WE WILL GROW

WITH REGRETS

OF HOW WE THREW CHANCES AWAY

IN THE NAME OF LOVE.

 

ALL THIS WHILE

THE PASTOR’S VOICE ON THE RADIO

HAS NEVER CHANGED.

NOT ONCE IN THIRTY YEARS

IT RAINS

 

A VIOLENT RUCKUS

BLACKS OUT THE PRESENT

IN THE GLOW OF A LAMP

WE SLEEP WITHOUT.

 

THIS WORLD KEEPS CHANGING

ONLY BECAUSE WE ARE GROWING INTO IT

IT IS OUR TURN

TO REPEAT OUR PARENTS’ MISTAKES.

NOTHING HAS CHANGED.

 

RAINSTORMS

A VIOLENT RUCKUS

HOT BLOOD

IN THE NAME OF LOVE

THE PASTOR’S VOICE HAS NEVER CHANGED.

 

_SENA_FROST ‘17

 

TIME; A MOCKERY

Sunday Train by inceptive images

 

TIME

IT MAKES A MOCKERY OF EVERYTHING

LIFE?

DEATH?

IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME.

YOU ARE BORN AS NOTHING

YOU BAWL YOUR LUNGS OUT JUST TO BREATHE

ALL IN GOOD TIME.

YOUR HEARTBEAT SYNCS

LUB-DUB

TICK TOCK

YOUR LIFE EBBS AWAY

FROM THE MOMENT YOU ARE BORN.

TIME GOES WHERE IT WILL

A JUGGERNAUT

THE ONLY THING THAT TRULY MATTERS.

A NEVER STOPPING TRAIN

IT WRECKS RELATIONSHIPS

EVEN THE MOST CAREFULLY WROUGHT ONES

THE ONES YOU THOUGHT WOULD NEVER LEAVE?

THEY BOARD THE TRAIN GOING INTO THE PAST.

GOOD DAYS

BAD DAYS

THEY BOTH HAVE THE SAME LENGTH.

THE ULTIMATE CONSTRAINT

THE CAP ON THE LEARNING CURVE.

YOU ARE FORCED TO GRAB WHAT YOU WILL

OR CAN

IF YOU CAN,

OR BECOME NOTHING.

YOU DIE AS NOTHING

AT LEAST THAT’S WHAT THEY SAY.

IT’S A LIE.

YOU LEAVE SOMETHING TIME CAN NEVER TOUCH

YOU LEAVE YOURSELF BEHIND

A MEMORY

FLEETING AND TRANSIENT

NEVER FORGOTTEN

HALF REMEMBERED,

A MOCKERY ONTO TIME.

 

_SENA_FROST ‘17

 

Twenty-Five to Life

I

He woke up to the rumbling of his phone.

He pinched it out from under the covers.

It was jammed from the flurry of missed calls and generic well-wishes.

Oh yeah,

He remembered.

It was his birthday.

II

He dressed up and hurried for work.

It always took him 30 minutes to get to work,

So he liked to take his time.

Waiting at the bus stop for what seemed like an eternity.

He bundled in,

Lost in his thoughts.

III

Work was a drag as usual.

It’s hard enough working for a boss who was a bit of a jerk.

He had shifty eyes.

He didn’t trust his boss,

He never knew if he would go all asshole on him again.

He wasn’t particularly close to anyone at work

And that was fine.

The phone rang occasionally.

“that’s nice” he thought.

They wished him,

Of course they would.

It’s his birthday.

IV

She called.

The ex that is.

He always loved to hear from her.

He missed her on occasion,

Even though she was a nutcase.

Still it was nice she thought of him sometimes,

Even if it was just to wish happy birthday.

V

He couldn’t wait to get home.

He only wanted to talk to her.

The her.

“The love of his life” he believed,

It sucked enough that she was faraway.

Today was his birthday so he had to make room,

For anyone who would call.

Yet,

He would text her.

She who made him light up.

She was hopelessly naïve,

But she was attuned to him,

Like two extradimensional beings.

She was scared of him sometimes,

He knew.

But she’ll come around.

Yes,

Their world was still nascent.

VI

He bought him something nice,

His brother.

It was nice of him.

Unexpected but still,

Thoughtful.

They were so distant sometimes he hardly believed they were kin sometimes.

Yet,

They were so similar in their isolation.

He was fire,

That was how he thought of his brother,

While he was air.

Will and indifference.

They made a heck of a team.

The perfect roommate.

Someday they’ll own dogs and go out for walks without anyone interfering in their moments.

VII

Black

VIII

He wasn’t always this popular.

Years ago he was an eccentricity,

Even his “best” friend would rather hang out with other people.

He stayed in his cradle of thoughts,

Hoping not to be a nuisance to anyone,

Yet hoping someone might touch him within the bars of his cage.

IX

She did.

She really did.

She wasn’t like him.

She had friends,

She was smarter than he could ever hope to match.

But,

Here she was,

Purring over the intricate darkness of his mind.

He liked her,

But she was not the one.

No matter how he wished or wrote,

Even when they flung together,

She was never going to be his.

X

He loved his football club.

It was an entity which while a bit oblivious to him was one of the joys (and disappointments) of his life.

He followed games and players earnestly.

His heart bled red.

He would definitely go see a game at the Theatre of Dreams one of these days.

He had his jerseys all lined up.

His only footballing love,

Manchester United Football Club

XI

They said he was not spiritual enough

Didn’t pray enough

Didn’t share the Word enough.

Would rather talk about ephemeral things on this earth.

Excuses,

Made by people who could just not grow some balls to say what they really thought.

They were afraid of him.

He was a different kind of spiritual,

Unencumbered by the selfishness of breakthrough

And simply concerned with growing better

And progressing.

Not a hedonist

But one who believed that desire and gratification are made pure

By love.

If you are spiritual,

You will get it.

XII

He loved her from the first day he saw her,

He was speechless,

She was the light in the room.

She made him weep.

He could never understand,

But

She did not feel same for him.

He died many times over.

He learned to let her loose,

Even as she flew into a trap,

Her wings pinned,

Her pride desecrated.

He stood and watched,

Without lifting a finger.

He was no longer there,

But he was here.

Always.

XIII

School was hard,

He struggled to fit in.

His friends did not care though,

They believed him,

And loved him the way he was.

Finally,

He belonged.

XIV

He did not care much for self-serving people,

He did not do what they did,

He did what he does best,

He was very good at it.

He knew,

He had invested his blood and sweat into it.

He did not need their stamp of approval

For them to tell him

He was decent.

He was

The One.

XV

Gray

XVI

He was a liar.

He knew it.

That was why he struggled to hide things,

He would rather hide them in stories

Artfully painted,

Crafted by his clumsy mind,

As complex as an eyrie,

Or a simple marble carving.

Yeah

The kind that people gushed over.

Blithe honesty,

Truly just half truths

From the mouth of the liar.

XVII

Family is everything.

XVIII

It flew through the air at twenty-five miles per hour

Catching him in the solar plexus,

His muscles stiffened at the sudden agony,

Gag reflex

He spewed effluvium.

Another blow caught him in the second and third ribs,

Precisely over his pulsing heart

There was a distinct pop

As they cracked.

The surgical precision of the strikes numbed him.

His vision clouded,

There was a sharp pain and a loud crack as his jaw was violently twisted sideways.

He saw stars,

Then nothing.

XIX

They used to get to him,

The pains of the human condition.

But he grew.

There was a thing called due process,

So

No matter the umbrage in his heart

He learned to let it go.

If life ever made sense

There would be no sense of time,

He would be locked in the eternity

Of his mental constructs,

The only religion he ever truly acknowledged.

XX

Red

XXI

It bubbled beneath the surface

Seeping through fault lines

It surged and writhed

An angry living thing

Molten

Swishing around the atrium of the caldera

Hollowed by past eruptions

The madness within

Ran parallel to his sanity

He knew all too well what would happen if they ever converged at vanishing point

XXII

Justice is blind,

Mercy tips

The scales always seeking retribution.

XXIII

White

XXIV

Twenty-five to life,

No possibility of parole,

He looked at the striped light

He saw the dust swirling

Catching different wavelengths,

Iridescent.

And felt the cool concrete through the thin clothes on his back.

It was heavy and gray.

He heard the chatter from down the hallway,

The tap going drip-drip,

Plonking away musically.

He could taste the bile in his mouth,

Tart

Full of regret

At the cold meal left untouched on the scoured floor.

He saw occasional flashes of red,

Then black,

As he read the sensory input relayed to him.

Life gives him a rough deal.

Life was kin with death.

They were not kind to anyone,

Yet

They were never

Cruel.

The blood welled in the meninges of his brain,

Biochemical reactions diffused through capillaries networked

Moving at terrifyingly fast speeds.

He pondered,

It was all he could do.

XXV

Unwritten

© Sena Frost 2k16

Bland

I am,
Bland,
Tasteless,
Colourless,
Odorless,
Speaking on a thorny issue (briar-rose),
Young and misguided,
Misunderstood and misconstrued,
The boy made a man yet at heart a woman.
Alloy of transmutable elements,
Base metal and gold (alchemy),
No transgender crap but yeah,
Feeble minds rule the day.
Equality for all is asymmetric balance,
Tall, short, obese, anorexic.
Here’s what I think of your bullshit honesty,
You’re a liar.
Ask me why.
You refuse to accept what you cannot change so you change what you cannot accept.
Hiding behind the premise of a truth you have only just started to fathom,
Perfect swimmer in the pool,
Out of depth in a flood.
Raincheck? (cheque)
Poncho or umbrella,
Tired arms and howling wind.
Runny ink and rheumy eyes.
By all means carry on!
Science suggests spirituality thickens the brain cortex,
No depression more happiness right?
Wrong!
Cup in hand,
Going from door to door,
Scrapping with dogs for bacon rinds,
To share with you, yourself and yours.
Rancid truths,
Leaving a sour taste on my tongue (lemonade).
Spirituality does not reside in a building.
Prophetic declarations are seemingly self centered.
The irony,
Because the path to knowing oneself is to give ones life for others.
If you doubt me read your bible.
Is it a book of fairytales or a manual to life?
Talk of philosophies and ruthless leaders,
You have one chance till you no longer have it.
I’m no longer at ease,
My heart is no longer your home,
For as far as the crow flies I see an alarming trend.
The only way to make peace is by killing.
Brings to mind what someone said about women, countries and immutable silence.
I will not go easy into the silent night.
Witness me!
For I will cross the bridges while they burn,
Balance myself on the tables as they turn (hip hop).
Its easy to be a tiger (rug)
But its not easy to be a rat,
Chewing steel pipes and gnawing soap,
Bathing in sewers and drinking radiation.
Tell me,
What would you rather be?
A dying breed or a revolutionary (Ché)

© Sena Frost 2015