POETRY

What we already know

What we already know is,
The world doesn’t stop spinning,
because things don’t go your way.
We know the sun doesn’t die because,
pillowy clouds smother its beauty.
We can scream poetry into the night,
and hope the black cats hear it on their prowl,
because passions and people
have gone to the dogs,
or run away with the fairies.

What we already know is,
Summer drinks by lakes drip,
softly deep into your body.
Rippling on that storm,
of the sea that is your soul,
calming currents of crimes and punishments,
laid painfully adrift into that dark fog.
Resurfacing only when wanted most and needed least,

What we don’t know is how to move on,
how to be sure of the steps you take.
We know how to light the flames that burn only us,
we tell tall tales that can grow to such heights,
that we can no longer climb atop.
It is in making firewood of these trees that,
we leave behind who we have made ourselves to be,
and the smell of the lingering smoke, 
that informs us of who we will become.

We already think dreams are just figments of our imagination,
so we don’t need to believe in them.
But we know nightmares are real,
and choose to let the unconscious take control.
Fear owning our daily lives, eating away at ourselves,
until all that we know is that,
we know nothing at all.
Perhaps it’s better that way?