Observers

The crumbling wallpaper, or at least what is left of it, is mostly singed in the spacious room. Various scribblers left their marks on the walls in multicolored spray-paint and the occasional Sharpie. The textured effect of defeated age meeting teenage art holds a certain charm. Light filters through the two empty door frames on either side of the house, as well as a single window, as dust motes dance idly through. Darkness collects in the corners along with a single flip-flop and a few whole peanuts. Those who left clues behind were now gone, but left permission to explore the answers they left to questions unasked.
From the outside, the stark emptiness that surrounds the place draws the eye from the rusted tin roof down into the fading shack place that someone, at some point, called home. And for a little while, it may be mine as well. The shady cavern inside shelters quiet minds that can't quite focus on the absoluteness of math, that can't quite focus on anything absolute at all. The wind sweeps away the worries and the regrets and the mundane, leaving only a sense of peace and understanding. From this quiet place, the building reconstructs itself; redefining everything that occurred within, open to the interpretations of the imagination.
And as the shed stands alone again, these dwellers left only smudges in the floor where the layers of accumulated dirt were disturbed.

At the Train Station

We had been waiting. Not for long, but long enough that I was about to get vaguely worried. The concern that gives your eyes the freedom to zip about in a nervous-type way, even if someone else is talking to you intently. I resisted, and stared at the ground, trying to concentrate on the words he was saying. In fact, I had forgotten what we were talking about; it became less and less important as we arrived in the train station. Provoking thought once dominated my attention, now replaced by distracted anticipation; I wasn't completely sure who or what we were waiting for.

Then he said the words: "Well, where is he? We might be late."

At that moment I saw the guitar case appear among the huddle of pea coats to the left, and I knew it was him before I looked up. The figure brought with his presence an idea also of what I was doing here, where we all were going. Realization and discovery hit me simultaneously--a strange phenomenon. How can you discover who you're looking for and realize that you've known who it is all along?

"Just in time," I catch myself saying. Within minutes, a train arrived. We hop aboard, the three of us, entering the old-fashioned rail car that is almost completely empty, its doors clanging shut behind us.

The train pulled away from the station, leaving a small absence in the crowd, a void worth the space of three people and a unified cause. No one noticed but us, dragging along our various hopes and a guitar.

Our mission had begun.

Vulnerable

Huddled in the corner
hiding
from Them
but They keep coming
ever coming

Sick of Their words
that pierce through
this corkboard heart
can't handle so many thumbtacks

If only everything didn't remind
of the past
back sometime
beyond the worries of the present
much less the future.
Those things locked in the past
are oh-so comforting
because they will never change

If only time would stand still
if no one ever changed
then it would be safe
to stand and explore this place
that we experience a lifetime
thankfully no more

Here he is
another one of Them
surely...

Questioning eyes
offered hand
could this be a trick?

I take the hand
I don't know why
knowing it would collapse on me
I gave it a tug
it holds firm

I rise with knees shaky
yet he holds me firm
and when They laughed
it didn't hurt as much

The words "I understand"
something unexpected
for how could someone so unshakable
know weakness?

but no
could the fearless
simply hide their terrors within?

His eyes tell me everything
we are not alone
and our insecurities pit Them against each other
against us
but we don't strike back:
our fatal flaw
yet greatest strength

and for that moment
time stood still.

An Imagined Beginning

A lone figure emerges from the dark expanses of a mysterious realm. Nothing is tangible save the darkness, the fog, the loneliness, the stillness. The human just arrived seems to be searching for something concrete in this desolation. A horizon to reach; to follow and explore. Yet nothing reveals itself, and just so soon in his journey, the adventurer sinks to his knees in defeat. Lost in his wandering, shaky in his confidence, the beginning almost seems the end.

Yet alas! A shimmer of light appears; a horizon! Hope floods the land of mystery, illuminates the landscape and fills it with opportunity and purpose. Stumbling to his feet, the adventurer meets a new day.