"The Imposing Climb"

"The Imposing Climb"

Voice suddenly ceased
behind my thickest layers.
The barrier. ...
Signal loss.
Dead tone.
No carrier for you to relay
what I've heard you say
more times than I care to replay.
We crumble.
Decay
with every unwarranted attempt
as if your interests at heart
were truly interests of the heart
after the start was faint and frail
where you would cuss between the yells
where I am burdened
to get a word in.
One meager sentence.
Your spite relentless
and I have run out of energy.
No curiosity to find
what new excuse you've had in mind.
I can finally stop
and breathe
behind this wall....

I thought we had a connection.
But you never cease to amaze me.
Maybe I read too deep into things.

No. I didn't.

You were supposed to
have my back but I retract
my previous statement.
Strategically placed slights
of the tongue audible to the heart.

Deafening.

I shall regain the time
that once was mine.
But it's quite trivial to go back
to make corrective actions now.
Serrated edged memories would
do more harm than good remembering.

I defer.

To cower back to my stopgap.
Momentary fix for what I truly want.
But that isn't plausible anymore.
So behind the wall I shall remain.

The membrane
that you believe breaks away
when you scratch and slam
through the curse and damnation
that you heave upon it
barely chips away
with what you do
and what you say.
Damage delays
and words decay
before they reach me.
Nothing more valuable
that you've sought to teach me
than the quality of silence
when violent means are stirring.
Insulting barbs you're hurling
cannot climb this height
and your flight is mismanaged.
Advantage was never the end
to some means of justification.
I'll firmly stand.
Life can reprimand.
I am supported in fortification.

So this is my deposition.
Because things seem to
be spiraling out of control.
Accumulation of
twisted promises
which bored into the trust.
Quite the misshapen misfortune.
Do I dare to wonder what
was to become of us?
To gaze upon those eyes
I once saw forever in
but that's not entirely true, is it?
What I saw was the reflection
of my hopes masquerading
as your beautiful face.
Intuitive over rationalization
in collaboration with the
physicality of what was tangible
prompted me to
fall to your guile.
What has now materialized
is the self reassurance to
sever all tempestuous feelings.
And the time has come to put
asunder what was intended.

 























Written By: ~ Twin Monks ~ (Eric Gumas Jr & Devin Joseph Metz)

"Overcast"

"Overcast"

You only recall me
when the wind howls
and the fowl disperse for shelter....
In the dreary I find your beauty.
Something to look forward to
when I can't even push forward
through this measure of torrents.
The anticipation torments me
as much as your absence
when I sense the warmth
replace those turbulent winds
with such stale calm by night's end
just before daybreak.

I only feel your presence
when the showers are
present in my town.
I look around at shallow crowds
and watch ponchos
and raised hoods
that resemble cowls
meant to dry their faces
all while I stand
to embrace you willingly.
I'd wonder if you were hearing me
long before thunder rolled through.
Surely you'd answer,
right?
Am I to hope that squalls endure
much longer than this night?
Why must my world's vision be
marred amid the wind
for me to clearly see you again?

You won't come to visit
if dark clouds will imbue
no blue and white streaks
to illuminate your path to me.
I imagine catastrophe
possibly impeding your advance to me
as if you aren't the
most familiar force of nature
that has ever drawn this close to me
so what semblance of
undisturbed condition of current
and darkened, dry pavement
gives you any conceivable limit
that would make sense of your
displacement from me?

If not for your delight
in wiping the mist
that would gently kiss my face,
you'd know nothing of this place.
Wouldn't recognize the streets
without the lights
through the downpour.
You would never smell the grass
encouraged by your steps
to eventually grow more
in the strength
that is your nurturing touch.
If nature were vocal,
the trees,
the air,
even the birds
that would usually take cover
would be sacrificial in hover
before you
to implore that you
understand that I need
more of you
than the forecast would render.
I'm tired of imagination.
I no longer pretend;
whispering to myself
"It's okay. I don't need her."
whilst cursing the sun itself
in all of it's radiance
for it's role in the slow burn
of what is left
of our brief encounters.

If not for the rain,
I'd eventually embrace the pain
and forget about the harm
of having to miss my storm
each time
all over
again.

Soak everything.
Anything.
Everyone.

Everything that would stand between us.

 













Come back to me.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Corners"

"Corners"

Salve on the gashes
but rubs become scratches.
These lashes. ...
They itch.
I fiddle and twitch
just to stop
but the switch
again flipped
and I'm peeling.

I'm kneeling.
Hard surface.
Punished as I trifle.
I'm kneeling in service.
Decrepit Disciple.
I'm kneeling in purpose
but just not in purpose.
I'm frightened.
I'm nervous.
It hurts
and you've heard this.

Nowhere I can go.
The door is wide open
but where will I go?
I'm morbid.
I'm moping.
The wounds are still open
so I can still crawl
but I don't move at all
though I long for the fountain.
Condition that I'm in
is at best malnourished.
Can't recall when I've flourished
without a few sips.
I've bent
and
I've dipped
and
I've cried from the pain

I've thought "Not again"

but that whip
and that chain.
Each strike so concise
still engraved in my brain
stained like walls
and the floor.
Each time a bit more
with raised head as you shove.
You're standing above
and I'm looking for love.
Through grimace I've traced
as I wince,
blink
and then look for some grace.
Wish for mercy misplaced
as you batter my face.

The "why" I am wondering
while balled up recovering...
...a question left hovering
that hurts more than whips
feels as cold as these chains.
Answers complex and plain
yet I cannot explain
why I can't reach these keys
barely high on the shelf.
I'm furthest from freedom
but I still try to reach them
until snatched by your hands
as you slam me beneath them.
Removed from myself.
Can't move by myself.
I look up amid danger
to see you in your anger
and still beg for some help
but I'm begging.......
.................. myself....

 



















Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Lack Thereof"

"Lack Thereof"

Lord knows
but I'm afraid to ask.
Recalling tasks I've vowed ...
that remain incomplete now.
Peeled from the mattress
reluctantly to my feet now.
My peace
but a piece I'm forced toward
to chase after
the waste
after
a taste
and long after procrastination.
Aggravation in my wiles
when my trials are self-manufactured.
Stints of joy and laughter
No more earned
than the bridges that burned
when I feigned concern.
I took my turn
and I'm still not finished?
Meant well but demolished.
Momentum diminished
and I can only hope to replenish
while praying that this is not my penance.

Lord knows
but he won't say.
Won't stay hinged to my wishes
when the business isn't handled.
Thought to channel it all
behind walls
Indian style
in consistent proclamation
that it may take a little while
longer.
The longer I've longed her
who says that I've wronged her
without ever exchanging words.
Hurtful things I've heard
about how men exist
as the stress that she insists
we've always given gleefully
to thee
but can't retort with
"That's not me"
for being told we're all the same.
Doubt you even know my name
but wherewithal
to tack on shame
has made diamond this plastic frame
and we can't even scratch the surface
anymore.

Lord knows
and I implore
that he gives me something.
Anything to look toward.
Inquiry just as hard
of an undertaking
as the wait itself.
Taught never to question
but if life has its lessons
and I'm still missing answers,
I can't pander to the dogma.
I know what faith is evidence of.
I trust the above
to preserve the lower than
but I'm older than the teachings
and the motive
less misleading
and more melancholy
is probably hardly worth the call
honestly
because it's increasingly hard
to distinguish between
the want for some direction
or the need for an excuse
that makes sense of this dereliction
from that which demands my patience.

I can't just say
"Another Day"
like the time is for purchase.
Things to say but I'm nervous.
Way too close to the furnace
than I might have perceived.
Lost on what I believe.
Loss I frequently grieve
when what I've achieved
does not align with my aspirations
or the boastful proclamation of such
but sadly,
I can't say
and I won't rush
what will come my way.

 















Apparently,
Lord knows too much.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz