Poems (Various)

FULCRUM

by Jirina Linnea

One of my siblings is a blue ribbon; the other a jack-in-the-box.

One is a welcome mat where people wipe their feet,

The other is a sculpting tool for wood, stone, or clay.

Both of my siblings are ships drifting further out to sea.

They think I do not know, but I’m still on the shore.

One of my siblings is a weeping willow, who bends but does not break;

The other, the staircase to a darkened basement.

One is the dying battery in a smoke alarm we silently beg Just get it over with.

The other is a storm cloud, crackling with the threat of lightning.

Both of my siblings are a song waiting to be sung.

They think I do not hear, but I already know the tune.

One of my siblings is a journal with pages left un-filled;

The other, a bow believing itself an arrow.

One is a goldfish, swimming endlessly in circles with nowhere else to go.

The other is an unlit match that could burn down the world.

Both of my siblings are a shadow, dancing around things that are real.

They think I do not see.

But I am in the middle, and I can look both ways.

PAIN

by Jirina Linnea

A wound that cut deeper than knife, sword, or spear

that festers with sorrow and strife.

A chasm that houses uncertainty, fear —

a bleeding that won’t end your life.

Something inside you refuse to let out —

a battle within your own mind.

A seed that is planted flourishes into doubt —

a search for what you cannot find.

Like a flame or a flood consuming your heart,

growing ever more hot and more deep.

Like four wild horses it tears you apart,

but you hold back the tears and don’t weep.

Your Garden of Eden is shattered, and you

have to wander the desert alone

asking Did it have meaning? and What did I do

to be cast from my once secure throne?

And you must keep on walking though inside you are dead —

you need water, but there is no lake.

The life line you hold is a delicate thread —

from this nightmare your mind will not wake.

Now, I know hearts can break that were broken before

but can you tell me if they will mend?

Like a pit with no bottom, a room with no door,

this tunnel does not have an end.

The silence inside screams a loud thunder clap —

you are falling apart at the seams.

Every word that they say to you stings like a slap —

and no answers are found in your dreams.

Being eaten alive by a ravenous bear —

red hot iron is touched to your eyes.

They will answer the how’s saying life’s never fair,

but they will never answer the why’s.

You tell me that, physically, pain is not bad —

it can be endured, it will fade.

You do not remember each scrape that you’ve had —

every bruise, every stumble you’ve made.

But there are some wounds. they’re so deep, so far in,

that you cannot see, though they’re real.

The deep pain of loss whispers It might have been:

Do you know if these wounds ever heal?

JOURNEY THROUGH THE UNCONSCIOUS

by Jirina Linnea

You sleep under the open sky

concealed by the trees.

You dream of flying free and fast

across the sands and seas.

You dream of fighting for a cause

that’s greater than your life:

A warrior; a hero with

a villain’s deadly knife.

You hear the voices calling out —

an echo from a dream.

They watch you from the shadows, and

in hunger their eyes gleam.

The fire of your destiny

is slowly burning low.

You run on towards eternity

with no place left to go.

You’re chasing stars and memories

through a labyrinth of mist.

A fragment of tenacity

held tightly in your fist.

You fling the ashes to the wind,

their legacy will fade.

It’s not your place to ask what would

have happened if you’d stayed.

The thieves of midnight are disguised

but do not be deceived.

A story can be true or false,

mistrusted or believed.

You ride across the desert towards

an icy, unknown land.

You’re lost in time and place and mind;

what’s left to understand?

A storm is brewing up ahead,

your journey’s end’s not far.

The voices whisper in you ear

of life beyond the stars.

The hurricane is growing fast,

it thunders in your mind.

Become a myth, the voices coax,

leave all of this behind.

Oh, listen to the fireflies,

they sing of silence lost.

Of broken wings and afterthoughts —

a vast wasteland of frost.

They sing the song of sacrifice —

of twilight and of dawn.

One day the world is yours to rule,

the next day it is gone.

The phoenix calls the answer as

it rises from the flames.

They say we have forgotten

everything except their names.

Can you wield the ancient sword

for it reflects your heart.

A weapon lost in moonlight;

a masterpiece of art.

Oh what is left for me to say

when at my journey’s end?

What is left to wish upon

when all the stars descend?

Look for the beauty in the night

and do not be afraid.

The rules of chivalry and peace

were meant to be obeyed.

Your soul is on an endless quest

that cannot be foretold.

In search of wisdom or revenge —

a heart or hand to hold.

Do you see your reflection

or do you see something more?

Can your life be a prophecy

for every open door?

You fly across the wilderness

through dream’s eternal flame.

The wind, the storm will bear you home

through time to whence you came.