Death to Glory! (poem)

 For years I was lost to doubt.
having stumbled out into the internet,
I witnessed a thousand writers screaming out into the void
not willing to hear, only to be heard
and I was there too, floating among them
wondering if there was value to adding my voice to the cacophony
to continue a constant desperation for attention
is that all the pen was truly good for?
is that all I was good for?

Though I gave those doubts a voice,
they have gone unanswered
even as I stand before you now reading this poem
in this warm café off the beaten path
where poets congregate to share and listen
from sharp seasoned pens to teenage girls
who make my early years all the more embarrassing.

Here, I found the truth that lies beyond doubt
a roaring flame that such darkness could never know
we unweave ourselves up on the stage to find each other:
the pen is not a sword on the field of glory
it is a cup of tea between friends
it is singing by the campfire on a cool night
it is love's embrace when grief takes you
it is knowing you are not alone
and telling others they never will be.

And so those doubts are not worth the ink
when there is passion to be felt,
beauty to see, joys to share,
this vibrant exuberance we've created together.
I want to keep hearing your voices
and thank you for hearing mine.

-Zero

The Tunnel - Kira Faye (poem)

 We had crawled into it in search of adventure
two teenagers with fingers interlaced
as we walked into darkness
the water ran in the opposite direction
but was trapped in the air,
its dampness a warning
We barely fit in the tunnel – the drainage pipe
our backs scrapping against the top as we walked
she led the way though gripped by fear
something I felt in my fingers, trapped by hers
something stirred and she screamed,
dashing back into me.
All went still for a moment
I reassured her and she pressed on

the smell was the first thing I noticed
the sign that we had found what we had feared
the sign to turn back immediately and never return
but neither of us recognized it
so we continued on
drawing ever closer to the source
with nothing but a flashlight to illuminate the horror
the faces staring back at us,
half submerged in the water
eyes bleeding out a radioactive ooze
the whole scene a horrid rainbow strung through darkness

we turned and we ran
blood stained our shirts,
seemed to come down from the tunnel itself
the light at the end promised freedom
but we would never be free again
those eyes would always watch us
and us them
their draped rainbow burned into our eyes
until we join them in the tunnel forever.

-Zero

should I feel more? (poem)

Butterflies swallowed by molten lava
desire boiling up at every touch
even after all these years spent together,
is that how I'm supposed to feel?

Instead desire simmers somewhere out of sight
butterflies lay dead on the ground like fallen leaves,
crumbling as I wander through in fearful pacing:
I don't know what I should feel
has age dimmed and tamed my once-wild emotions
allowing for a proper relationship to finally flourish
or has my romantic heart quietly stopped beating
(or just doesn't have a place for you in it)?

If this were to implode,
sucked into the void where love once lived,
would desire reignite and draw me back
or would the butterflies revive and fly away
to a place where flowers may yet bloom?

-Zero