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Nameless

By Hector GonzalezPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 2 min read
1
Nameless
Photo by Joshua Rondeau on Unsplash

Attendance was mandatory for this day's event.

Inmates beckoning kids; future crimes to prevent.

The kids would sit and the convicts confide;

thereby guiding appreciation for being on the outside.

I sat there and listened with nary a pout,

but didn't appreciate freedom any more from without.

My mind was aflutter; the girl running the faction.

Shoulder length blonde hair to add to the attraction.

I most certainly didn’t know her, but know her I must;

the dream guided me towards the mall, but towards her I thrust.

Each step in return had exponential weight;

like a rubber band stretching, I had sealed my fate.

My mind had awakened; soon, too, my body would,

so I mustered all my frantic strength and said the only thing I could.

“What is your name?” She looked at me confused.

Why should a simple question sound so enthused?

What is the importance of my name? She must have thought.

Not realizing that her world that was, was about to be nought.

Deep down I know...I am a destroyer of worlds;

at my presence in any its reality unfurls.

But if I can remember them, even just one name,

their worlds will persist; I can visit again.

Her world didn’t disappear, but only because,

I remembered her face…her eyes...who she was.

I saw her once again when I returned to that world;

traversing through a parking lot, an airport, and a watertube that swirled.

Through hedges concealing a pool, I asked names of a crowd

to find that perhaps people in dreams ought to remain Nameless somehow.

For as that world broke, I took to the slide and was transported to the world where my heart did reside.

In the mall I remembered her and wandered off to see;

and passed a second floor bookstore where she was working.

Fear had gripped me and begged me abort,

for when I approached and asked her name again, my dream was cut short.

It would seem that her name, in this world, is taboo;

perhaps, I am just not meant to know it...or know it, I do.

She remains to exist with her own world spared

despite thousands of others whose existence I teared.

A world in existence without me would be been fine,

but because my intelligence created it,

its destruction...divine.

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Hector Gonzalez

I'm a creative writer. I don't blog or write op-eds. I talk about my perspectives on twitch as I write and I consolidate my most intricate feelings into poetic forms. I'm always open for meaningful conversation.

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