diaspora

the diaspora of my thoughts

leaves me unpopulated at core

where there was a city

now, only mud huts remain

my words have become refugees

sheltering in desert tents

scattered across borders

this dispersion has left me burnt and derelict

my riches have disappeared

I am nothing but a beggar now

I wait for renewal

but my thoughts are stillborn

even naked truth ceases to arouse my passion

winds raise a curtain of dust around me

each mote a memory of a death

each mote a misdirection

a barrier standing between perceptions

until I am invisible and alone

unhampered by surroundings

unable to hear the cries of the many

I confront the emptiness of solitary freedom

and find peace

in the tranquility of disengagement

 

 

David Trudel   ©  2013

 

 

Hollow Empty

If I am hollow empty as I feel

Maybe I can touch dark matter

Feel cold flames of a conflagration of dark energy

Inside this void

Where there is more space than I care for

Normally

Whatever that state is

 

Today I’m stateless

Abnormal

Hollow empty

Absolved of guilt borne of excessive obsession

Or sins of misdirection

In this absence of emotional weight

I approach nothingness

Surreptitiously

More of a leaving than an arrival

Remembering a void, not a place

Where there are no exits or entrances

Because this is not a place to come to or leave from

This is not a direction

 

This is waking to hollow empty carelessly

Darkly indifferent

To the absence of emotion and externalities

Internalizing the all of nothing

Which has just enough mystery to matter

Darkly

 

 

David Trudel     © 2013

 

 

Blue Empty

In the great blue empty of a summer sky

Lies the reflection of my heart’s void

More space than materiality

Full only of wonder and the promise of discovery

I search for eyes that sparkle with creative compassion

I’m met with disdain or indifference

So I declare my sovereignty within my skin

Satisfied to be myself

A collection of memories and hopeful fantasies

Who makes friends with mermaids and poets

Looking for beautiful abstractions

Disdaining the artifice behind masks worn by compliant roleplayers

I search for whimsy instead of wisdom

Gaining both in small measure which I give away

Letting them slip through my fingers

Into the forever of an empty blue sky

 

 

David Trudel      ©  2013