My Doubt
If the Devil were a figure, separate, it would be a fair fight. We'd have it out, battling all our facets like paragons, one city night. Alas, I fear the Devil is my shadow, long or short, trailing right beside me. But when there is no light, the Devil with care, slides closest to me, weaves between my ears, out of sight-- resides in the concave of my heart and mouth-- and stands behind my pupils with blinding fright.
And when I no longer have beside me that Shadow, of a doubt, when I feel most irately that I am Right, and am willing to death to scheme and blight, it's then, we can be absolutely sure, the Devil won.
04.15.2025
Devil May Care challenge @SelfishNeurotic
Mirror Me
Mirror,
you
are right,
we grow to live
with our Ghost
all in parallel universe
wash and wear
rinse and repeat
we blow kisses
into the wind
upon that Narcissus train
of moving things
...Life...
...goes on...
but we are always 17
or whatever age
it was
we became
unhinged
and realization
opened
to us
like a photo album
or a needle
on a record
and drew
the mental picture
of Everything
as burial...
leaving its
dinosaurs
upon our chests
and we answer
with form
and structure
as poetry
as essay
in silence
like the Concentrics
on a tree
or
Stratigraphic
soil testing
where we can see
eras of our Life
all these things
mirror, you
as mute
accomplice
hide and see
We All Stayed
We could’ve left.
Just stood up
and kept walking
until the cities blinked out
from lack of eyes.
But we didn’t.
Because the couch is warm.
Because we’re tired.
Because the system’s a lullaby
we hum along to
even when we hate the tune.
I wanted to be angry.
I was.
But I also wanted to see what happened next
in the show,
in the feed,
in the lie I keep
calling normal.
Conviction is heavy.
It doesn’t stream well.
You can’t binge it.
So I set it down.
We all did.
And the world kept spinning
on subscription.
Crossing Fate
https://www.theprose.com/post/709806/fate-complex-church
There’s a beautiful garden behind a church by my home.
There’s a few small gravestones marking the lives of souls long past.
There’s a sculpture of a man spinning with the stars.
There’s a woman confronting her fate.
She’s carving her name into a tree that passed away, crashed down, and died.
Now the tree is a bridge covered in soft moss.
It crosses a river with everchanging waters.
The waters might drown the woman.
The fallen tree might save her.
Crossing the river will undoubtedly change her.
She can use the fallen tree to cross the waters or she can try to cross without a bridge.
There’s only one thing the woman can’t do.
She can’t avoid crossing the river.
She can’t stand in one place forever.
She must keep spinning with the stars.
She must confront her fate.
She can watch the moon wax and wane for months or years,
But eventually she must cross.
She must let the everchanging waters change her,
She can let the bridge save her.
Her purpose lies on the other side of a fallen tree.
She’s carving her name here to mark the soul of a woman passing by.
Oleanders in June
He entered the club shortly after midnight, grabbed a broken bar stool and popped a squat next to me. I watched him from the corner of my eye. He reached into his pocket and pulled out seven crumbled one dollar bills. His jeans were faded and poor. “How much for a gin and tonic?” I stared straight ahead, pretending I was interested in the shitty soccer game blasting above the cash register. “What are you, deaf? I asked how much a drink is around here.“ I felt my skin tighten and my forehead retract. “Do I look like a bartender to you?” He scooted closer. I refused to make eye contact, “Look, buddy! I don’t make small talk with your kind.” I downed the sugary drink I wholeheartedly despised and made my way upstairs to look for Tommy. Mid way up the stairs I felt the blood rush from my face, three loud booms. BLAP BLAP BLAP. Mr. Gin didn’t get his drink. One to the head, two to the chest. His blood soaking quickly into the porous wood, his brains splattered like a Dali clock all over the tator tots and uneaten burger I left behind. Tommy looked up at me. “Sorry you had to see that, kid.” I shrugged and kept walking up the stairs. My left hand trembled violently as I grabbed the banister. Flashes of running though an empty field during a hurricane flooded my vision. The ghost of my mother calling to me from the blue room to the left of the parlor. “Keep climbing child, you’re almost there.” When I reached the top of the stairs, I collapsed in a flood of silent tears.
My mother’s ghost wrapping around me like a warm blanket and then instantly the room went dark. I began to dream of oleanders in June.
Life Within The Halls
In the heart of Emerald City, Hill Academy stands as the epitome of high school dreams. It's a prestigious institution where the city's elite send their children. For Pearl Adams, gaining admission seemed like a ticket to a new life among the wealthy. However, what appeared to be a golden opportunity became her greatest mistake.Within the opulent halls of this A-class school, renowned for its accolades and stellar reputation, lurk shadows and concealed secrets. Behind its pristine facade, Hill Academy conceals dark mysteries. And when Pearl's life tragically ends due to the horrors of sexual abuse not to mention more, justice becomes her driving force. From beyond the grave, she returns, determined to expose the corruption and seek the justice she deserves. As the story unfolds, the dark truth emerges.
In this gripping tale of resilience and redemption, witness the power of one girl's unwavering pursuit of truth amidst a web of secrets. Prepare to be captivated by "Life Within The Halls: A Journey Through High School," where no secret remains buried forever."
Please let me know if you need the book. Thank you!
Love on the Railway
Chaperoned
By public transport
And the table between them,
Her eyes looked across on full beam.
He looked at his watch,
Six weeks, three days, five hours,
two minutes, and that first second.
He considered her as a father might
His first born child, the wonder
Of love, paralysed him in thought,
There was nothing beyond her,
Nothing before her, nothing without her,
For her part, She know there was
no other, just the one soul,
with two train tickets
© Bernard Pearson