Beyond Heaven

I was never really heaven’s favorite child.
I failed
to prove my obedience
by asking “why” and “what if”.

And heaven offers no salvation for dreamers
unless they stay cloaked with its holy hues.

All I have left to show
for my dreams are lost love’s ashes
clinging to the souls of every one of my failures,
who in turn are ground into oblivion.

I never thought anyone
would find comfort or inspiration in my stories,
taking cautionary tales as aspirations,
insisting there’s gold beneath the grime.
I didn’t expect you, my daughter,

knowing the selectiveness of heavenly mercy,
would demand that heaven acknowledge you
and start living up to its ideals.

How can a parent ask their child
to be less than what they are,
to shrink their spirit
when they are finally ready
to shout truth in the face
of reactionary angels?

I may repent
an innumerable host of stupid decisions
but I refuse to renounce the greatest miracle
my disobedience has birthed.

 


Liner Notes for this Groove: I've been sick with COVID for the last week and a half. In between hacking up my lungs I got a chance to binge the musical series, Hazbin Hotel. While I enjoyed it, it's definitely not for everyone. The pacing gets a little crazy and there's a song/ scene that makes Fantine's I Dreamed a Dream from Le Miz seem like Somewhere Over the Rainbow (they were not kidding around with the content warning for episode four). But I am a sucker for musicals and characters that are idealistic dorks, like Lucifer and Charlie.

Sing a Song of Giants

Sing a song of giants
in a land far, far away.
Tell a tale of magic
to keep despair at bay.

Whistle an adventuring tune
as you begin your trip.
Wander an ancient desert.
Try to give your shadow the slip.

Gather odds and ends of myth.
Plant the bits you love the best.
Weave the remainder into a quilt
to wrap around you as you rest.

King, from the animated series, Owl House


Song Choice: Owl House LoFi 

Liner Notes For This Groove: This poem was written in honor of one of the regulars at the local writers' group I frequent, Tyler Simanski. He passed away some time late last Friday. Tyler was a fantasy writer too. Sometimes he and I would talk about our favorite cartoons, including Owl House. He will be missed by me and all the other members of the Bucks Country Writer's Room.

In Search of Nuance

This is the bleeding heart
that shines the mirror
begging you not to look away.

This is the ram
unafraid to challenge
both demon and angel,
demanding a response.

These are the hands
cramped from the sorting
of seed from stone.

These are the throats
swallowing worlds of emotions
while looking for a space to scream.

This is my heart
in search of nuance.

All I find is a mirror.


Photo by 卡晨 on Unsplash



Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem is linked to Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings