Last year four scared kids sat next to each other on a plane ride to Panama, the country they would be living in for the next six months or a year. They passed around my orange leather journal taking turns writing lines of poetry. What we got was experimental, at times cheesy, yet bursting with raw emotion. What we got was this:
The softness of the morning
echoes off the stark darkness of night.
Dreams rewind into reali life.
Remembering is like riding a
bike; you never forget
the stick aroma of nightmares
constrasting the bittersweet feeling
of good dreams ending.
Some dreams won't end soon
You wanted it to last forever, but
nothing lasts forever...so it's your nothing
your only escape from
your safe haven, your perfect insanity.
Mysteries are there forever
never to be answered or never
to be questioned
like the time capsule nestled deep
within your mind
that spreads thoughts of uncertainty,
of forgetting regrets,
remembering mistakes, unpaid debts.
The lights flicker, you're pitched into
Your only glimmer of hope is the shining
Release your memories, your dreams;
don't regret, repent.
The shallow waters of joy never satisfy.
The hungers of sin are never sated, yet
the dark tip of guilt relaxes you,
takes you back to the impish pleasures
of childhood when
ignorance truly was bliss.
The innocence triumphs with a resounding cry.
Why must we battle the monsters
that impossibly exist?
We battle the parietal sanctuary
we live in, desperately seeking solace
in the caverns of those who wound us.