The longest nights when everyone seems to know we’ve Once AGain fallen short
Can anyone see?
I’m sure we wonder while wandering through the crowd, feeling
eyes on us even if they’re not from those whose shoulders we
pass or whose wrists we bump in to.
They’ve got to see it
we say to ourselves, feeling the heat rise as the heart quickens,
palms becoming moist at the thought of our inner selves being
exposed, a permanent exposure of celluloid and sin.
I’m sorry.
We mutter it to everyone, audible only to ourselves and God
but not nearly as often to an ear or a cloud or a mirror.
Trespass after trespass seems routine even though we
continually scream
no, no, no.
Does the body simply will itself toward destruction, regardless
of the heart and mind wanting nothing to do with it? Shadows
follow our falls and make sure we’re sent over the edge,
glistening the whole way down as our souls deplete from the
judgement of our own self. There, in our ever-present stupor of
tears and shame, we feel the only hand we’ve ever needed wrap
around our shoulder, comforting us to sleep.
I’m here
all parts of myself
Light finds a way through the colors
of the glass, mimics a standard
of excellence that is rarely ever achieved
by human hands.
How did we get to a point
where we rely on self-commands instead
of relying on words from He who gave us
vibrance, radiance, robustness.
I long to silence the masses.
I gaze toward the sky, wondering…
Thoughts pave the way,
leaving me engulfed
in a lake of tears.
For given to us is
the forgiveness of
so much, we call it all.
Lakes of tears
dry up, leave imprints
upon us, reminders
that we’re always close
to filling it again.
Jake Lane is a husband, father, poet, playwright, and occasional half-marathoner. Jake's works focuses on examining themes of identity, memory, time, and the human condition, often asking what it means to really be here, right now. His work has been published in The Writing Disorder, Coalition Works. and JMWW. Jake is an MFA candidate at Augsburg University and lives in the Pacific Northwest.