On the Broken Road

We gather on these summer nights
around a make shift fire
            but in our minds it roars.
Shadows dance across the faces of
this composite family,
            this ragtag gang of hoodlums,
                       this proud assembly of Olympians.


Stories unfold
of the beginnings, of mumbles
             and other myths of old.
Stories to be passed down
once we are gone.
             When this forgotten, sacred
                       place is once again silent.


We are the creators and
we are the keepers
             of this very moment.
We are the only ones here. Alive
in every sense of the word.
             Dancing with the cattails,
                      laughing with the gentle waves.


As the night wanes, we leave our mark.
A sign of our existance that
             some will see as defacement.
Others will look on with awe and wonder--
whatever came of these people,
             these cunning, elusive renegades,
                       these mighty, mysterious titans?

A Matter of Faith

All of this is happening, more or less. I am there; of this I am most definitely certain but where exactly? Standing in this shadowy, unrecognizable space, I am frantic in my attempt to make sense of the surroundings. Looking up, the rocky, jagged formations that confront me only add to my already distressed state. A cavern? Of all the places to wind up, it just had to be in a tomb. My breathing has already started to accelerate. Oh, God. I need to make sense of this. Oh, God. Oh, God, I’m underground. I’m underground and I have no idea—

Wispy lights reflecting onto the cavern walls bring me back to the present moment. The patterns are familiar. They remind me of… water? Water. Looking down, it is only then that I realize that I am standing waist deep in a body of water. There is a radiant glow beneath the surface that illuminates the surrounding area. The water is clear and pristine, the light preventing any obscurity but its beauty does nothing to pacify my growing nerves. Then I notice that there are others in the cavern with me—dozens of people. What are they doing here? Why are they so calm? Clearly, this situation warrants some sort of response but there isn’t a hint of emotion on any of their faces.

A sense of understanding begins to wash over me. We are all gathered here for a purpose. We are going to another place—a better place. It is a place of absolute harmony and understanding. But this place is on a completely separate plane of existence and in order to get there we will have to leave our bodies behind. After all, they are merely vessels. The easiest way to go about this is simple, apparently. We will drown ourselves. Here. Together.

“It isn’t suicide.”

This we were told over and over again. It is like a vehicle; a path to get from one plane to the next. It is truth—absolutely obvious—and something no one questioned. How could you even consider the thought? You looked forward to the day that you could enter the other plane and I was no exception. However, now, at this very moment, I am unsure. I am not ready to leave; there is still so much that I want to do. So many things that I still need to do.

With these thoughts racing, I immediately began to question all that we were taught. Where exactly is this place? I have no idea. How do we even know it’s better than here? Now, after so long of waiting for this day to come, I am not so sure this supposed perfect plane even exists. I look around in hopes of being able to explain my feelings. People need to know. As I scan the masses, no one else is hesitating. Am I the only one who doubts this completely absurd concept? All of the others are submerging beneath the surface. As I watch on, horrified, I realize that no one is coming back up. They are all gone and it is at this moment that I feel utterly alone—hesitant and not knowing what to do. Suddenly, a girl approached me. She is smiling and projects a kind, nurturing aura. It should have quelled my discomfort but instead my desperation to escape only intensifies as she draws nearer. She asks if I am alright. No. I want to scream at her, to tell her that this is wrong and we need to leave—together, we can go together— but I can’t find the words; can’t even speak.

She continues smiling and says, “Do not be afraid. We’ll go together.”

I am frozen; unable to move, let alone resist. All of the anxious, scrambled thoughts cease and at this moment the only one present is, I’d give anything to have her blind faith. She takes my hands into her own, all the while smiling that ridiculous, unwavering smile. Is it even possible to be that calm? I do not fight it. I can’t. We submerge. I am holding my breath, I know it. Somehow, I am hoping that it will help—that it will give me more time but I know it is hopeless. She is still there, holding my hands and smiling, completely at peace. Why can’t I feel that?

The air is slowly leaving my chest. I feel the burn; feel the tightness consuming me from the inside out. Everything is beginning to fade and in that last moment a fleeting thought occurs. Maybe everything will be okay.

Then there is nothing.

That Night on the Broken Road

A steady breeze blends the familiar smells of low tide
and honeysuckle. The deepest blue ever imagined
dusted with endless stars gazes back. Clear. Perfect.
It is a forgotten place. Sacred and
untouched by civilization's light.

Getting back into the habit.

It's been a long time since I've last posted. Summer is gone and my senior year of college has officially begun. More than ever, I realize that I will need a place to write my thoughts as they come barreling out of my mind. This year will be full of surprises and challenges and, although mildly panicked at first, I am now ready to face these things head on.

My newest obstacle seems to be my Creative Writing course. The reason? Poetry. I haven't had much (if any legitimate) experience with writing poetry so this will be very experimental for me. One of our first optional assignments is to write a very short poem (no more than five lines) about a night in a place we have lived.

Naturally this has lead me to write about my childhood home in Lusby on the water. For the past hour or so I have been reminiscing over nights spent on the banks of the Patuxent River... and instantly I realize that it's making me terribly homesick. Needless to say I do not have a poem as of yet but I did make a list of some of the things I remember most clearly. Sort of a brainstorm. Kind of organized narratively. But pretty rough.

No street lamps

Just the light of the moon

The broken road- a secret sacred meeting place

The old worn away stone steps leading to the beach

An ever present breeze

Calm warm waters

Sounds of the waves- barely a trickle

Cattails rustling in the wind

The comforting/ familiar smells of low tide

And honeysuckles

The refreshing feel of the cool sand

On a warm humid night

Sand shrimp tickling your toes as you bury your feet in the sand

The deepest blue I’ve ever seen sprinkled with

Endless stars

Away from the pink glow of Solomon’s Island
The perfect juxtapositions of mankind and nature
Civilization and solitude

-----------------------------------------------------

As we gather

Stories unfold

Of the beginnings
Of mumbles and other myths of old
We are the creators
At this very moment
We are the only ones here
Alive in every sense of the word
And it is beautiful