Pen on paper, smooth
Flow of words to page, trying
To set myself free.

–

How do you connect
When you are so terrified
Of your own damn mind?

–

Why are all my thoughts
In the form of a question?
Never an answer.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Red, for the blood that
Is spilled in this land, not just
Left in history.

White, for the bones that
Lie forgotten, waiting for
Their recognition.

Blue, for the sky that
Watches everything, and can
Only weep for them.

I see no valor,
No innocence, no justice,
When I look at you.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Wanted a story –
All I got were these stupid
Three lines of haiku.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

What would it be like,
If we could patch together our memories
Like a stitched-together blanket?

Would some be worn thin,
Barely holding together and ragged
From years of remembering?

Would some be bright,
Always catching our eye and recalling
Memories, good or bad?

Would there be holes,
Where we know memories once lived
But we can’t find anymore?

Would there be a narrative,
The memories moving one to another
Or just a jumble of moments?

Would there be dark parts,
Things we wish weren’t in our blanket
But are holding it together?

Would there be little spots,
Dotting the surface that bring smiles
Even in moments of darkness?

What would your blanket of memories look like?

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Thunder thrashes in the sky, each strike filled with rage.

Under their blankets, children cower in fear.

Every rattle of the house, sends them deeper under the covers.

Some dream of a better day, the sun warm and breeze mild.

Darkness creeps around each corner, hiding secrets great and small.

Against all odds the storm abates, sending them out into glorious sunshine.

Yet the wise among them know, the storm is never really over.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Bzzz.
Weight falls like Atlas
Dropping the world.

Bzzz.
Gone are rules of beauty
That confine us.

Bzzz.
Gone are expectations
That drown us.

Bzzz.
Gone are capitalistic necessities
That indebt us.

Bzzz.
There is freedom in the lightness
And a clarity in the air.

Bzzz.I am myself.

Bzzz.I am beautiful.

Bzzz.I am free.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

The Universe has always existed, and it always will. No beginning, no end, no middle – an eternal continuance.

But at some point, Something woke up.

Something decided there should be more to the Universe besides its own existence. The Universe was beautiful, magical, but empty. There was no Life in the Universe.

And so Something decided to do something about it. Something found a planet, just right for its plans. It was a small planet, held together around a molten core. It had land and sky, and seas all around.

Something knew it was perfect.

It circled the planet, planning. There was so much space, so many options.

As a being of the Universe, Something could see all of time, past, present, future, all running at once.

It could see that if it meddled on this planet, wonderful things would happen.

It could see that if it meddled on this planet, terrible things would happen.

Something had to make a decision. Was it worth it, to create Life that would be so full of pain and struggle, so full of fear and rage?

Something shuffled through time, looking for a moment in the madness; just one, to give it hope.

It paused, focusing on one image. A child sat, dark curly hair surrounding her like a shining aura, her brown skin warm from the sun. Her eyes were closed against the world whizzing past her, and a small smile lit up her face.

This was the moment for which Something was looking. A moment of purity, of love, of peace, stolen away from the world that wanted to crush it, triumphant in its innocent transcendence.

If this moment was possible, then maybe, just maybe, the Universe could handle a little Life.

Something breathed on the planet, and so it was.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

I used to think it strange,
Listening to the old fable,
That Hope kept such bad company
In Pandora’s gilded box.

Curiosity got the better of her,
As it usually does,
And horrors were released
By vindictive deities.

War
Hatred
Greed
Pain
Disease
Poverty
Death

And yet Hope was left behind,
Sealed in tight
When Pandora realized the trick
Played on her by fate.

But I think I understand now.
Hope can be beautiful,
But it can also bring us pain.
A pain we live with every day.

We hold out Hope,
Waiting for things to change,
To be better,
To make a difference
To save us.

And yet.

Hope can be the pain in our chests,
The fog in our eyes.
Hope lingers just out of reach,
Mocking our suffering.

I think I understand the story now.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Broken bits of story
Float across my mind,
Teasing me
With their potential.

I sit,
Staring at an empty page,
Waiting for the words
To come and find me.

My fingers wait,
Still as stone.
Or they fly,
Dancing on their own.

I am eternally surprised
How something can be
So easy, and so hard,
At the same time.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

There is magic in the air,
I can feel it on my skin,
Somewhere a storm is brewing,
And about to head my way.

I hear a warning from the trees,
As they waver to and fro.
Seek shelter! They cry, Take heed!
The rain is on its way!

I smell the drops just as they fall,
And feel them on my skin.
The rain brings with it a fresh hope,
For change,
And growth,
And peace of mind.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020