GHOSTS/STATIC

Two poems for the barren month of November; from strangers.

 Masahisa Fukase, The Solitude of Raven

GHOSTS: 

What new atrocity at last

Makes you see the ghosts around

Those faces lost to history

Their voice still carried on our tongues

Playing its immortal sound

Of hope they buried under glass

Of pain, joy, and liberty

Their anger bubbling in your chest

After you look them in the eye

And understand the ghosts are we

Poem by Petros A. 

STATIC:

I miss when the sand made sense;

disintegrating when the wave rolled

The cutting edge hurts when you're not the one holding the knife;

there's always a sharper tool in a rich man's shed

I've analysed our time of analysis

I don't think I feel right

I believe so much – I should believe the most;

that doubt is unavoidable, that I'd like to know more

That I've got something to say, which is a reaction to you

an original critique;

that I desperately craft, with all of my might;

to prove that none of this meant anything at all

There's always something wrong with not burning whats rotten

throw it away, or have you too been infected;

with the public admission of having desires of your own

how dare you not conceal and play the game of conviction

It's all about the ideas, I just happen to have

How can I move when I'm lying on cushions

another may just take my place

 I sing their chants so they won't come and get me

my wits are what secure my place

It's not about dying, but as long as i live

I must sustain the illusion

that my life is brave

Poem by J. Barela