Bending The Universe

by Justin Wetch

  To the shape I see fit.

  Life wants to drown me under the waves

  But I will rise once more, unscathed

  As this charade of conformity goes ablaze

  Be amazed as I rise from the haze.

  Can’t end my trajectory, it’ll only be delayed

  If it takes a second or a century, I’ll still get my way.

  ETERNITY

  What does it take to please me?

  How will I learn to be happy?

  I could be the greatest things

  And still yearn to be better

  Because, in truth

  My greatest fear on this earth

  Is to be on my death bed

  —Hopefully at an old age—

  And to look back upon a life

  That I didn't live to the fullest.

  Even if I left behind a legacy

  That would stand for a century

  I would think of the length of history

  And see that my contributions

  To this planet of ours

  Were nothing but a breath,

  Nothing but a careless blink

  Before the eyes of eternity

  Refocus on something else

  And I, forgotten.

  The first things to disappear

  After you’ve left this earth

  Are the minute details,

  The truly small things

  That made up who you were.

  Then it’s the voice, the smile,

  Then the eyes and face fade away,

  And before long,

  Only your name is left

  Before even that disappears.

  Maybe I feel this way

  Because, growing up

  I was taught that the

  Only existence worth any

  Consideration was eternal.

  But eternity is a long time

  And for now, what do I need

  In order to not feel

  Like I’m wasting my life,

  Wasting this only opportunity?

  Maybe happiness isn’t for me;

  Maybe I’m doomed to contemplate

  The deep mysteries of existence

  And leave the frolicking, the love,

  The days in the sun to others.

  But I hope that isn’t the case.

  I hope that one day

  I will find rest

  And will not worry

  About these grand things.

  THE WEIGHT OF THE FUTURE

  I hope I end up one day

  Having everything figured out

  I hope I end up happy

  Certain of what this is all about.

  Pressure knocks at my door

  A clock ticks and demands its due

  The lava burns from the floor

  But not in a game like it used to.

  So little time to figure it all out

  So many distractions to prevent success

  I’m in a dark forest with no path or route

  But this internal fire knows no rest.

  I cry out and scream

  Demanding answers, any at all

  What does any of it mean

  When will clarity call?

  Darkness encroaches on vision

  But ask for light and it blinds

  Boiling distaste for indecision

  Spills into this heart of mine.

  Will I ever give my heart

  To love without reservation?

  Will I ever learn the art

  Of waiting with true patience?

  Am I even capable of loving

  With more than an actor’s grimace?

  Will I ever stop juggling

  My real self and my outer image?

  When a blank page is a canvas

  You are used to filling with words

  Real life becomes stranded

  As another canvas, the lines blurred.

  Will I ever admit I need others?

  Will I ever learn not to judge?

  I hope I will go further

  In the pursuit of giving love.

  My hoping, my dreaming,

  I lay them freely to die

  I will be a present being

  I vow to be truly alive.

  SPECIAL PEOPLE

  You’re just one of those special people

  You meet every once in a great while;

  Those one in a thousand souls

  Whose eyes speak of galaxies

  Whose soul speaks of mysteries

  Whose breath whispers of freedom;

  A free spirit

  Who the world could not keep locked up

  In a prison of conformity;

  I could speak of your honesty

  For a century.

  Someone so very real

  They make everyone else

  Look like pathetic facades

  Too afraid to be anything

  Or anyone

  Close

  To who they really are.

  I could not begin to capture

  The beauty

  Of your soul

  If I had a thousand pages

  And a thousand days

  To fill with words

  Declaring how you amaze me.

  You know who you are, kindred spirit

  And I hope one day you read this

  And smile, thinking of the time

  When our souls grazed one another

  Resulting in sparks of electricity;

  I will keep you in my thoughts

  And become just a little bit more

  Like you

  Because

  You’re just one of those special people

  You meet every once in a great while.

  CYNICAL

  The music used to pulse through me

  I could feel it in my bones

  It shook my spine and gave me shivers

  Oh, the music used to move me.

  I used to watch a sad movie

  And tear up at least a little bit

  I might wipe the tear away in shame

  But at least I felt something.

  Where did those innocent summer days go?

  When did cynicism sneak up and consume me?

  I wish I could hear a sad story

  And not dismiss it out of hand

  Saying it is nothing more

  Than a method of getting sympathy

  From someone else.

  I wish I could see butterflies burst from cocoons

  Without tempering my amazement

  Knowing all beauty eventually dies.

  I drive alone up the mountains

  Just so I can scream at the top of my voice

  Hoping the loudness of that sound

  Will rattle my bones as music used to

  And I would awaken

  From this stupor—

  This cynical, deathly stupor.

  I am buried alive

  In a casket of my own doing

  Someone please, someone please

  Command me to come alive

  Like Lazarus

  And bring me forth

  From this jaded tomb.

  INTERNAL COMBUSTION ENGINE

  Sometimes I miss the sadness.

  It cut through the confusion

  In some way it made me sharp

  It made me somehow more than human

  And put brilliance in my art.

  Sometimes I miss the pain.

  It was the fire burning the fuel

  That was my hopes and dreams

  And turned them from minuscule

  Into power for this machine.

  I made a deal with the devil.

  God gave me seeds, soil, and light

  Which I traded for a minstrel’s guitar

  Seeking money and power in new heights

  Considering no self-destruction too far.

  I wonder if I’ll ever be satisfied.

  I could watch this fuel burn

>   Or find some positive self-expression;

  Before it eats me away I must learn

  To create without using depression.

  THE BOX

  As a kid, I never was the type to color in the lines.

  I used to wonder, why do the lines even exist?

  When these pictures in my head are ripe for harvesting

  And I can give the world something it’s never seen before.

  They said, “Think outside the box!”

  But truly, I don’t think they meant it.

  Or perhaps they meant it literally, as in,

  “Think outside the box, but stay inside it.”

  I don’t think they much approved

  of my incessant attempts to break free.

  For once I had tasted freedom,

  I resisted what I saw to be a prison cell.

  Tired of my antics, they locked me in as I was daydreaming

  And threw away the key with a laugh.

  There I was, locked away in that roomy box,

  So, I decided to have a look around.

  A heavy, immovable, drab wooden desk

  And on it, a form with checklists and neat little spaces

  And next to that, a generic gray metal pen.

  Behind the desk, an average-sized chair

  With an average-sized head rest

  Much too small for me, it appeared.

  There was a rack of clothing near the back,

  A row of black suits and white shirts;

  As I walked past, I picked up the scent

  of a generic male cologne drifting dully in the air.

  I opened a desk drawer to see what was within.

  A book, labeled “Vacation Photos!” In small, all-caps print.

  Perhaps that would be of some interest...

  I flipped it open casually, shifting in the rigid chair.

  I expected pictures of sunny days, beach living, and fun,

  But I did not find any.

  Instead, there were black and white photos;

  The subjects: a TV set, a worn-in couch,

  and an at-home office.

  Bored already, I turned my attention

  to thoughts of getting out.

  I tried the door, but it was barred with a heavy lock;

  I looked for a window, but found only an empty frame.

  “Let me out!” I screamed, banging loudly on the door.

  “This is your home now, don’t you see? This is your new life.”

  Was the muffled reply from the other side.

  Already claustrophobic, I fell to my knees and wept.

  “Don’t be sad, there’s plenty to like about the life

  We’ve already got planned out for you.

  War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, and Ignorance is strength;

  After some time, you’ll love the box like a big brother.

  We’ll put you through twelve nice years of school

  Where you’ll learn to see this box as beautiful;

  your memories of freedom and possibility will slowly fade

  And you’ll realize you don’t really need to think for yourself.

  After that you’ll go to a college or university

  In year multiples of two, four, six, or more

  Where the dreams we’ve told you are acceptable to have

  Will be narrowed down, categorized, and trained for

  Until you’re small enough to be a nice little worker bee.

  You’ll sleep for eight hours, work for eight hours, and then

  in the remaining eight hours, we have all sorts of screens,

  gadgets, doodads, and pleasant toys for you to play with,

  With just enough variation to keep you vaguely satisfied.

  You’ll have just enough rebellion in these first few years

  To placate you into inaction until you die.

  After some time has passed, you’ll feel it time to fall

  into this crazy thing we call ‘love’; but do, do of course

  be very careful that you do so only as we have prescribed

  And with the established pattern of how it is to be done.

  You’ll sign a paper and say some vows

  And reproduce so the cycle can start all over again.

  Then you’ll retire comfortably, watching spectacle sports,

  politics, and birds, until you die at long last

  And we put you in an even smaller box, in neat rows,

  with all the others who have their own little boxes, too.”

  I sat in stunned silence, seeing at last how the world worked.

  Sadness overcame me, and I lamented this reality;

  the fact is, for me, the box they wanted me to end up in

  The one six feet under, nicely insulated, and made of wood,

  Was the same one they wanted me to live in

  For my entire life, from first breath to last.

  There’s not a thing wrong with the things in the box,

  But the constraints of staying within it are killing me.

  If it takes every single second of every day I have left

  I will shatter this prison, and then I shall be free

  at last.

  section five

  nature

  SECTION V: NATURE

  CONTENTS:

  Above The Clouds

  The Sun, The Moon (A Romance Story)

  Passing Seasons

  Termination Dust

  Rosebuds

  A Butterfly, The Universe

  Season of Love

  Volcano

  Up The Mountain On A Brisk Fall Day

  A September Sunset

  November’s Northern Lights

  Snowflake

  A Hundred Billion Stars

  The Death of Summer

  Skydust

  Requiem For a Raindrop

  Sunrise Coffee

  Avenlight

  The Auburn Scent of Pine

  I, Forest

  Life can only be so bad when the beauty of nature is so abundant.

  ABOVE THE CLOUDS

  Way up in the mountains

  Sea level too far to be seen

  The clouds mask civilization below

  People replaced by a sea of green.

  Peace falls down from heaven

  In the form of a cleansing rain

  The trees could tell endless stories

  If you knew how to hear what they’re saying.

  An ocean of gray spills out below

  Walk on it if you dare to drown

  Its tendrils reach out and the waves crash

  But it all happens without a sound.

  Above the clouds, below the stars

  No money here, but endless wealth

  Inward is the hardest adventure of all

  Come above the clouds and find yourself.

  THE SUN, THE MOON (A ROMANCE STORY)

  The sun begins to crest the

  Looming, mountainous facade,

  Sending a cascade of golden light flittering through

  The calm, yet swift river,

  Making the whole scene

  Come alive with

  Golden hues.

  This coronation of the day with a crown of

  Golden spectacle and

  Vibrant pageantry

  Marks the end of the sun’s

  Slow waltz

  Across the darkening sky.

  The sun’s lost dancing partner, the moon,

  Would soon step out

  Onto the dance floor

  In search of her partner;

  But this night, like every night spent in

  Fruitless search

  For millennia upon millennia,

  The two lovers would find

  No solace

  In each other.

  PASSING SEASONS

  The sun charges into the mid-autumn night’s sky

  The frost melts away, everything comes alive

  The birds
chirp away in their orchestral reprise

  But oh, they’re in for an unexpected surprise.

  The sun dances down below the horizon

  The birds answer a call emanating from inside them

  As the first snowflakes fall like tridents of Poseidon

  We watch the seasons as they’re written by God’s pen.

  Armies of snowflakes invade and combine with each other

  Human beings flee from the site and take cover

  This chill makes nature seem a most negligent mother

  But the freest of spirits are those who aren’t bothered.

  Yes, we mourn the passing of our summer days

  And adore a warm breeze in about a million ways

  But if we cherish our Decembers as we do our Mays

  We might learn some of what the snowflakes have to say.

  TERMINATION DUST

  Loose leaves tumble occasionally to the ground

  Thick trunks wave gently in the breeze

  But a shock awaits any of those who

  Dare to look up past the trees.

  Up, up, on the mountaintops

  If you look up at this tectonic crust

  Peer far, far into the distance

  There, atop the mountains, is white dust.

  A loud herald saying seasons are changing

  The heavens deign to show their will, to speak

  Look up, look up if you dare to find

  A sprinkling of snow atop majestic peaks.

  ROSEBUDS

  A branch held on during the winter

  Against countless winds and gusts

  Armies of snow slowly retreated

  The howling winds have been shushed.

  Green attacks the canvas

  And the scene is vibrantly alive

  The birds return, the bees appear

  To make honey in their hive.

  Stalks flash up from the ground

  But malicious weeds they are not

  No, these are treasured rosebuds

  Spreading beauty as nature ought.

  The promise of much beauty

  Brings bird songs to a halt

  Rosebuds grow in perfect cadence

  Dancing to life's slow waltz.

  A BUTTERFLY, THE UNIVERSE

  Every breath we take from the air

  Takes oxygen from an insect’s lungs mid-prayer

  And every exhalation does loudly declare

  That in the currency of life, we’re millionaires.

  A butterfly flapped it’s wings and Rome fell

  A passerby’s whistle cracked the liberty bell

  And I dare urge the daring not to yell

  Lest we so bid a skyscraper a rough farewell.

  A snake’s tongue slithered and man did sin