Douse the Lights

Alright, so this one is not one of my favorites, but Megan seems to like it, so I'll post it. I wrote this the other night when I was walking back from my car to my dorm and one of the street lights flicked out as I passed under it. This is not a rare occurance for me. I've always wondered at it, and tried to put words to it, but I was never successful. This night, however, was different. I seemed to have the right words, and as I walked up the stairs of my dorm house, I put them together and had a pretty good piece in my head. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember all of it, and when I sat down, this is all I had left. It was longer and it sounded better in my head, but this is the poem I got onto the paper. Enjoy.

Douse the Lights

Sometimes I do wonder
why lights go out at my sight.
Is it my inner darkness?
Do they extinguish in fright?
Or possibly my courage?
Do they respect my will to fight?
Still, when I see it happen,
I must stop and admire the sight.

Wonderful, Why?

Alright, this requires a bit of a back story:

Nate Delk, one of my co-workers at Camp Freedom, decided to give me a challenge on Wednesday, July 16. Nate looked at me and said, "Josh, I have a challenge for you, in the form of a question. Why? Nothing else, just why."

I responded that I would right him a piece on "why?" However, I decided to use an extremely restricting rhyme scheme to show off to him because he is a fellow poet. I think it was detrimental to the final piece, though. Either way, this is what I wrote to Nate:

Wonderful, Why?

Why?
Very vague, yet alluring:
What is the nature of thy query?
What causes the maturing
of the question left unburied?

Why?
Why, Why what, might I ask?
Is this a question of existence,
or only a tiresome task?
Is there some form of resistance,
or just an empty cask?

Why?
First, though, I must wonder:
Who out there will care?
Is this just a blunder?
Do I really dare?

Why?
Why raise the subject?
Why put forth the test?
Shouldn’t I reject
the future unrest?

Why?
So vague, but I’ll reply:
Why is reserved for the mind,
for only man can try
to understand and unwind.

Why?
Only man can ask,
and only man can answer.
Why give me such a task?
I’ll give you back a cancer.

Why?
Man alone can reason,
and man alone can wonder.
Why then becomes the treason
that sets our minds asunder.

Why?
Why separates man from beast,
for man can see beyond,
when others see only the least
portion of earth’s bond.

Why?
Why is a fantastic query,
and it belongs only to man.
No lesser mind of beast or fairy
can understand the way we can.

Think About It

Think About It

What sane person would want life uninformed?
Can we live while knowing that we know naught?
Would we cert¹ know how much we need to mourn,
Or would we not know that we have learned zot²?
For ignorance is a bitter rival,
Because its defeat is, in fact, absurd
If it is not first seen to be libel,
Though the delict³ is not of written word.
And none can certainly see that we’d ken⁴
the true crime committed against our minds.
This may easily be true of all men,
And no one knows the sin that none can find.
Should we not be upset by what we miss?
Why no. Don’t you see? Ignorance is bliss.

1. Cert-certainly; surely
2. Zot-nothing
3. Delict-crime
4. Ken-to understand

The Real Competition

The Real Competition

Crack! and then the tears begin,
but I doN’t run away again.
As salty streams run down my checks,
Now fists raise I; instead I speak
to one who caN’t being to listen.
With these words I try to christen
the attacker as a friend,
but the man just will Not bend.
Then I see the bloodshot eyes,
and a mouth that speaks just lies.
Truth hits him back when he hits me,
though it leaves No bruises they can see.
Who wins this fight of fist and phrase?
Who can they call begin to praise?

Self Incrimination

Can anyone suggest a better title? I'm none too happy about this one...

Self Incrimination

Is it wrong to ask and beg for
the very thing I fight against, or
is it just a bit more scary
that the part of me I’d bury
is the one that is contrary
to very death in which I seek?

Is it just a bit more likely
that part of me is out to spite me
for the good which I bestow
so readily on friend or foe,
always hoping they will grow
past the very death in which I seek?

Shouldn’t life be a bit simpler
than this hell in which I whimper?
Always hoping not to have to live,
even though I always try to give
other people that very life I hid,
for it is only death I seek.

What on earth could be much worse
than having to live with this curse
in which I’ve fallen victim to?
For death itself would be more true
than the wasted life I drew,
and now it is only death I seek.

What could be the cause or reason
of my own internal treason
forcing my own hand against me
all while I force man to be free,
yet it seems I hate to feel glee
for it is only death that I seek.

And these things I cannot settle
for I have no nerve or mettle.
Yet all along my voice is clearing,
faster now that I am hearing
the voice of reason without fearing
that death was never what I’d seek.