A drop of oil (poem)

The rain poured down that night,

and I stood alone on the bridge,

watching the river's waters crash onto a boulder,

enveloping its grey surface in a wet embrace.

My tears felt at home there alone amongst the waters.

None could separate them from the rain,

none except for me as I wept.

Water is both feared and revered,

the giver and the taker of life,

welcome all across the world's surface.

To be one with it is to belong,

and that night I was an alien to the world,

too strange to be welcome,

a drop of oil in the seas of society.

But I could not change myself into a human

just as oil could never become water.

Some things can never be changed.

And so, for all my tears, I remained,

a blessing far more than a burden

although my eyes could not see this:

everyone feels like an alien sometimes.

-Zero

The storm waits for no one (poem)

The storm does not wait for sailors to be ready:

it strikes when the winds and rains agree.

An unprepared sailor is bound to be cast overboard

into the unforgiving maw of the storm.

The waves will become sea serpents around him,

and entangle him below the water's surface.

And here I find myself drowning,

grasping for air where there is none.

What else can I do but dream of the surface

as the ocean overtakes my desperate lungs?

No seas will part for me,

and these serpents will never release me.

I am bound to this spot,

to this sinking fate.

But no ship is manned alone:

no person exists as an island.

Should one of the whole be cast overboard,

the whole seeks to save him.

The storm may be uncaring for the unprepared,

but the crew will always seek to save their own.

-Zero

The heathen at chapel (poem)

A dimly lit chapel left unlocked.

The pews sit in holy anticipation of the morning,

when sunlight will shine through the stained glass windows.

The aisle and altar both quiet and unmoving,

all that lives here at night is a single flame.

And I enter the resting chapel,

unsure of what I am searching for.

Inside, there is quiet and peace.

The faces of angels and saints watch me

as I wander down the dark aisle.

The flame burns above the altar,

sprouting out of a hanging candle,

softly illuminating the golden cross behind,

and my face as I approach it,

the candle's meaning lost on me.

I'm a heathen in a christian chapel,

born outside of the church,

taught only to question and learn,

the Lord's prayer just jumbled nonsense,

and yet I'm drawn to this very spot.

-Zero

A Place of One's Own (poem)

I came searching for a place for myself,

a place where I would belong.

I searched and searched and searched,

but nowhere seemed quite right.

Then, when I was at my mind's edge,

I found a place brimming with possibility.

I could imagine myself among its walls and people,

working towards a better world together.

I asked if I could stay...

And there was silence.

In this silence I heard whispers,

dark hushed voices promising prophecy:

there can be no place for me,

I have fallen outside of it all.

In despair, I listened

and came to cease my search.

I had given too much,

and received too little in return.

There will never be a place for me;

I will always be a burden on others.

But a soft voice questioned me:

“why do they decide your place?

Why aren't you enough for yourself?”

I had no answer to respond with,

so I stood there and questioned why.

Why do I give them so much power?

Why do I doubt my own worth?

We are different like two drops in the ocean,

no greater and no lesser.

We belong simply because we are,

not because of the walls we've built.

My search was a foolish one,

like a man searching for his glasses

while he is wearing them:

a search for what is already possessed.

-Zero