Infrastructure
Infrastructure stands in front of me;
In my hand, a hammer. In my heart, a plea.
Destroy the tower and keep what I have?
Or watch it destroy me with nothing to add?
Is the climb worth the ruin left behind?
Is temporary pleasure worth an empire’s toss?
Months of being wounded, wrapped in gauze,
Chasing a love I know is built on flaws.
Gashes will surge if I don’t silence this desperate urge;
A kingdom overnight emerged.
In my grasp lies the scourge,
The choice is mine, destruction on the verge.
Rome wasn’t built in a day,
But a moment commanded its decay.
My trembling fingers took down the facade,
Yet the memories, the memories take centuries to erase.
Fruit and Flies
How can you hurt me so much, yet keep me attached?
Like the flies on my rotten fruit
You keep coming back
Like the bruises on the fruit’s skin
You browned my flesh and left it thin
I search for fresh fruit to replace what’s at home;
I fear they’re rotten, so I just endlessly roam
I walk through aisles, pushing my cart
The way you pushed me around before you’d depart
You planted seeds of worry inside
Sprouts of overthinking are all that arise
Fruit and flies left behind
In the sun until they’ve dried
Still traces of moisture reside
Produce rotting side by side
Icarus’ Only Crime
I chose this cliff
I jumped off,
but I blame the mountain’s peak.
I’m afraid of heights, yet I climbed all the way up here.
Still, I blame the sky that lured me in; it’s so clear.
I reached for the stars, I aimed for the heights,
I destroyed the little hill chasing something bright.
I left my forest behind –
my friends, my family, the plans we made late at night.
I aimed for a bigger purpose;
only an overachiever would do this.
Was the summit worth the fall?
I left certainty for the unknown,
aimed for peaks, now I sit here alone.
My motherland’s trees call me in vain;
their open branches still welcome me with a warm flame,
their gentle whispers echo every night with the rain.
I had everything to lose and everything to gain –
a new reality alongside familiarity simultaneously called my name.
In the end, I decided to take the blame;
took all my mistakes, hung them in the largest frame,
hues on display –
a painting everyone chose to forgive,
except my own shame.
Rumors circled around the portrait;
some said the art was my relay,
an outlet through which my feelings I could convey.
Yet a voice whispered in the dark,
“This isn’t art!”
“A mere source of disdain,” it claimed.
And so, I shut the array.
I wish I’d joined my pack when I had time.
The guilt devours my flesh alive.
Was soaring worth every sacrifice?
Just like Icarus, for my ambitions I must pay the price.
But even in the fall, the glimmering light was all mine.
Why have wings if you won’t bother to fly?
Rather soar and sink than stay in line.
Listen to your soul’s whisper, even if your wings burn after a try.
The plans I had, my goals,
they were never a crime.
