After the sullen storm brings the dust to a halt,
Please permit me to settle like the silence that buries
These past memories.
–
I come from the tide like scars and flowing ashes
To recline in the desert of your ignorant compassion.
The silence sears a million more secrets as clear
As your watery eyes; secrets that should have
Stayed secret behind my pursed, trembling lips
That render me speechless before your listless concern.
–
Iris Zhang, May11
If home be my destination, you are the voyage–
The walk from here to where:
The barefoot trek on pebble gravel,
The journey that grows garish and weary;
The adventure on calm bullets of inexplicable silence,
The trip desperate to prove functionality on a fatal Tuesday morning.
The crossing on smothering brick-red stones smooth like water;
But water splashes like the feast of starvation rushes through each bloated vein–
The refreshing expedition to a familiar dread,
The travel designed for the traveling rather than the destination.
And before expected, home, is where my reflection ends.
Sand and dust;
Soil and dirt;
Scars and dreams;
These memories and footsteps never liberated
attach ingrained to the souls of my worn-out sneakers–
Know that the road on which it lingered later absorbs footprints of immovable weight, of companionship and cheerful comraderie.
Voyager lost at the end of the voyage–
Yes, if home is where the voyage ends, you are the voyage and I the vessel drifting at sea.
Iris Zhang, Dec09, edited April11
You always seem to know where to find me and I’m still here behind you
In the corner of your eye.
I’ll never really learn how to love you
But I know that I love you through the hole in the sky.
Where I see you
And that’s not an invitation
That’s all I get
If this is communication
I disconnect
I’ve seen you, I know you
But I don’t know
How to connect, so I disconnect
Communication, The Cardigans.
If home be my destination, you are the voyage:
The walk from sky to earth.
The barefoot trek on pebble gravel.
The journey that grows weary with energy.
The adventure on calm bullets of inexplicable silence.
The trip to prove functionality on a fatal Tuesday morning.
The crossing on brick-red stone smooth like water.
But water flows like the feast of starvation down through each bloated vein.
The refreshing expedition to familiar dread.
The travel designed for the traveling rather than the destination.
And before expected, home is where the journey ends.
Sand and dust;
Soil and dirt;
Scars and dreams;
Memories and footsteps never liberated—
Attach ingrained to the soles of the worn-out sneakers…souls?
Know that the road on which it pressed later absorbs footprints of immovable weight, of companionship and cheerful comraderie.
Voyager lost at the end of the voyage.
Yes, if home is where the voyage ends, you are the voyage and I the vessel at sea.
Iris Zhang, Dec09
You always seem to know where to find me and I’m still here behind you
In the corner of your eye.
I’ll never really learn how to love you
But I know that I love you through the hole in the sky.
Where I see you
And that’s not an invitation
That’s all I get
If this is communication
I disconnect
I’ve seen you, I know you
But I don’t know
How to connect, so I disconnect
Communication, The Cardigans.
Castle made of sand.
Came charging with ice cold water,
And soaked.
Soaked this heart made of paper.
Thoughts made of cellophane.
Came charging with resplendent light,
And shone.
Shone through all my transparency.
Tears made of fake promises.
Came charging with soft gentle caresses,
And left.
Left to abandon this weak battered body.
Hopes made of fears,
Hopes made of nothing,
Hopes made of illusions.
Iris Zhang, October09
A drop of ink sinks in a cup of water
My mind is in the ocean.
Tiny wisps of frail black arrows spread from a tiptoe of unconsciousness
I have lost my direction.
Iris Zhang, August09
A Collection of Original Poetry - Poetry Blog 