The Scarlet Oak

[It exists.

The silence, it must still exist.]

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I cannot dive to the bottom of the seas,

Nor can I breathe the air atop Everest.

I cannot find the center of a desert without death

And I cannot will my soul to sleep in a grave.

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[But still, it must exist.

That silence.]

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The place where I can fall asleep on cold, uncomfortable dirt

To the sound of rustling oak leaves

On any old, unspectacular autumn afternoon

Must live out on the horizon or else

I would not be able to dream it.

.

[Or is that a lie I've told

To make the grief bearable?]

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Trucks roar, screaming diesel into the air

While the patter of too many feet—

Five? Fifty? Five hundred? Too many—

Slap against concrete, animated voices rising high,

Lofting beside a paper cup.

.

[I have misplaced my map,

Forgotten the coordinates.]

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The tranquility of the autumn day is threatened

By the caterwauling of life,

The din of survival.

And it enrages me.

.

[They always fight.

Always fight, always noise.]

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Horns blare, trash is swept from the gutters,

And I am left seething,

Glaring through the glass with spit-shined annoyance

Glittering in my eyes.

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[The silence must exist.

It must.]

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I am tired of it!

I am tired of it, tired of it, tired of it!

The noise vibrates my bones 'till they crumble,

Wiggles the jelly of my eyes until my vision distorts.

.

[Where! Where is that still place?

Where can I succumb to that nap?]

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The truth is lost to the panicking noise,

The rumble of fighting something

That was never supposed to be a war

Or chore.

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[I don't want this noise.

It is killing me.]

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It is killing me to hear the splashing fight

Of ten thousand souls thinking they are drowning

As they stand in the shallows,

Because they will die from their exertion.

.

From fear.

From this effort.

From thrashing.

From the noise.

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[I don't want to be reminded.

Please don't remind me.]

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To live is not to fight for blood, breath, pulse.

We are not born to beat on our chests and scream

I am here!

I was here, alive, now...dead.

.

[Death is not "was" as life is not "will be".

Silence...is.]

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I do not wish to peer out my window

And witness hundreds of souls

Fruitlessly fighting their shadows

Because LIFE is watching, not engaging.

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[It will not stop you despite its sorrow.

DEATH will not deter you despite its wishes.]

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I don't want to watch them all strangle the wind in their blood,

Or swallow the stars on their tongues.

I cannot witness the horrendous, appalling abuse

Of this concept of LIFE.

Who do you think you are fighting? Killing?

.

[The coordinates are here.

Carved into my teeth.]

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They raise their fists and beat LIFE,

Rage at DEATH with foam gathering on their lips.

Twilight arrives and they are gone.

No more.

The soft weeping of those two eternals remains.

.

[I can't listen to them cry anymore.

The silence...it must exist.]

.

I want to go to that place of stillness

Where living isn't an act of war

And death is simply another sunset,

Where we three breathe prairie air and watch storms gather.

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[There it is, over the crest of that hill.

There it is, that place of stillness.]

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I want to caress LIFE with soft smiles

And watch the moon rise with DEATH.

I want to sit in the tranquility

Of being and nap beneath the Scarlet Oak leaves.

.

[It exists, this place by the oak.

The red place of stillness.

LIFE and DEATH and SILENCE.]

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Silver Serpent Books

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