purpose

Purpose


Tall trees touch the sun,
As the moon follows behind,
Lost inside of a rainbow.
The sun’s rays fail to dispel the darkness,
Although
It may be very early morning.
Leaves on the trees are
Small cupped hands, which
Cling to branches of unreality.
They hold dewdrops,
Tears of naiads
Lost in the storm of their
Abject misery,
Destined as they were
To reach heaven someday
Too far to travel from
Their homes amongst the woodlands.
One could have been myself,
Rising early, at daybreak
Each and every morning,
I would venture outward to
Walk the same rugged pathway
Uphill and down,
Winding about myriads of trees,
Some that would scrape the sky and others
Fallen by many a windstorm-
In my dream I would board a small jet plane,
Fluorescent in its color,
Headed towards the heavens, as it
Would travel through the forest at dawn-
Perhaps, I thought at one time,
This could be a different kind of a journey-
Now I know,
I am none but a lost soul,
With no purpose in life,
Awakening every single day
Only to voyage outward,
To follow the sun…
I may capture each moment in time,
Loving every tree and being mesmerized by
The sight of young deer grazing and then leaping
Through the brush, and
Although so in love with nature,
My life is none but static-
Listening to the same lullaby
Day and night, though soothing as it may be, and
Seeing the world through the eyes of a dreamer,
This phantasmal life is without change or purpose-
Perhaps I should be grateful that the sun
Does not hide its face and
Someday I may lose myself inside the clouds that decorate the sky,
Follow the moon towards midnight’s passage, hide
Inside that rainbow captured and
Lose myself in a
Different realm of time…

Claudia Krizay

Promises

Promises


You promised me roses
You promised me the sun
You offered me time,
And time is valuable,
My vase was filled with water,
My windows, wide open
To let in the sunlight-
In my hand
I hold empty stems
Three of them,
I believe,
One for each lie you told me,
My watch is broken
It is two PM and
My clocks all read midnight, and
Dark clouds
Obliterate the sun-
I never trusted many.
My parents planted seeds that
They promised would grow magnolia trees,
Tall and beautiful they would become,
Another promise broken-
I remember a garden replete with dandelions and
Overgrown with weeds, and
Grass never cut.
I walk out my door, and
Into my cupped hands,
I let the rain pour,
Into my cupped hands,
I let each tear that I cried drop,
One at a time,
One for each lie and each misfortune
This life has given me-
You promised me roses,
You promised me the sun.
I could uphold the moon in the palms of my hands-
There is no life on the moon,
Which is why I so adore it-
No living thing to lie and make false promises-
If I could I would live there myself
I would be the queen, planting my own seeds,
Seeds of prosperity and love,
And watch them grow in peace and in happiness alone,
Even if they were only dandelions and
Overgrown grass,
No rain would fall,
No tears would fall,
Because the water in my vase
Would be pure,
And the sun would shine at midnight-
And if t he hands on my watch
Spun out of control
Time wouldn’t matter
When no one is around
To lie about time, flowers or even the sun-
And from there I do not see
A single cloud in the sky?

Claudia Krizay

Helicopter From Hell

Helicopter from Hell


I am riding on a helicopter
From hell
That is supposed to take me
To some place
Where I can in vain find some
Solace and peace
For just one moment, I pray to some God that not likely exists-
They say it is supposed to storm today
But the skies are lying
Just as the whole world
Tells me its daily untruths-
Hell is where I am now living and
Hell is where I shall find myself
After death-
Hell is my past and
Here in the present
I am damned and
Feel as if I have been betrayed-
An elderly woman,
Dressed in a chartreuse and brown-colored plaid frock
Torn at the hem and she is
Wearing worn oxfords, made of
Yellowed leather,
One untied-
Eyes in the back of her head spinning and
Glaring at me as she
Chatters, laughs at and prattles about me through the static on her
Wretched cell phone-
On this bus
Everyone is laughing at me disdainfully,
Ogling me through their glassy eyes-
The driver slows down every time
We come close to a green light turning yellow, then red-
Wanting to make me late
To that place
That place where I hopelessly seek solace and some
Peace of mind-
I would shoot him with a pistol
Or stab him with a knife-
If I owned either, which in sad reality I do not
If this bus were in truth a helicopter
It would fly high up in the sky but never would reach heaven-
Strangers with their beady eyes
In back of their heads-
Intently gazing into mine stealing my thoughts away-
They are nothing but ants to me whom I would stamp on
If I only could I would with joy and utmost glee.
My hands are shaking and my eyes are
Darting madly about-
“Everyone knows
That
Woman
Is
Psychotic –“
I hear them all say-
About me?
And
I don’t even care, because
I hate people and I have just fallen in love with myself and
That can only mean that
I must be from some other planet and
On this planet where I was conceived-
No heaven or hell exists, so
I ride this helicopter
Back to my home beyond the sky-
Beyond peace of mind,
Heaven, hell, or this planet earth, and where
The skies never lie and
I am lost in my own storm and I only wish that
That old crone would tie her shoe
And turn off her cell phone
So I can hear the voices
Always talking to me inside my mind-
As my eyes dart about and my hands shake-
As this world spins out of control and thunder claps
My phantom cell phone rings,
To tell me that
The sky has lied…one more time…
I am a lost soul,
Stranded and
Miles from home…
Destitute, impoverished, and
So in love
With
Myself…

Claudia Krizay

Land of the Dead

Life in the Land of the Dead

I live in the land of the dead.
Upon this path I have taken my walk alone.
My feet would hit the ground with hard and steady steps.
I hear cymbals crashing and the tuneful rhythm of the beating of drums.
I have lost myself along the way.
A lost and crying soul I am,
Living in a sea of shattered tranquility,
Only a shadow, I have silently slipped away through
An open crack in the back door of this place,
This place where the carpet is chartreuse and urine stained,
The stench of perspiration reeks here in this room, and
Tiled walls are sallow and filthy-
I sit upon this chair, its upholstery sadly torn,
Foam rubber poking out of every hole-
Old men, zombie like, overmedicated pace up and down the room and
A pasty –faced young woman, wrists bandaged-both of them…
I can hear the piano playing out of tune in the solarium.
My ears are crying out for some peace and some silence-
“Listen, listen,” I whisper hoarsely – a cry for help-
I am a captive in my own world, as I
Climb cumulus clouds in my worm-infested brain,
Cotton filled meninges…
The Italian woman screams and bellows,
Locked in seclusion -
They took me into that room last night,
Kicking and screaming- it is her turn now to suffer.
The bitter taste of liquid Thorazine lingers upon my tongue –
Masked by the saccharine-sweet taste of the glaze on the
Doughnut I was fed for breakfast-
Cow troughs of them, a young girl bitterly weeping,
A middle-aged African woman, dazed, crochets
A pair of green slippers- so it appears-
This is the land of the dead,
I am living in the land of the dead.
I do not eat. I wish to harm myself.
Playing cards and broken chessmen strewn all over the floor.
Scratched records screeching on the phonograph-
I can hear them now.
I hear voices, non-gendered, they want me to die.
No one else hears them- so I am locked in this place.
This is the land of t he dead.
I am living in the land of the dead. Crap-chewing monsters,
Everywhere I look, but at the clock-
It is only one PM-
Bells keep chiming, as that decrepit ping-pong ball rallies on-
I stuff torn sheets of notebook paper hopelessly in my ears,
Trying to muffle the sound, so I can sleep?
I cannot sleep. not in this place-
The land of the dead,
This is the place they brought me to.
No one goes to heaven anymore.
This place is lower than the hell beneath my feet.
Beat the drums slowly, very slowly.
My time has come.
Everybody dies.
My sprit once young and alive has perished in this place-
Dead, dead, dead, a concept so bittersweet,
I keep walking my solitary walk,
Up and down then up again-and
Down the yellowed linoleum floors,
Thud, thud, and beat the drums slowly-
The gates to hell have opened to let me in.
I sink into the land of eternal fire,
Urine stained and dark as the fear that has wrought my
Dissolving soul,
Doomed to be trapped her forever, I am…
It is five after one, and the time bomb keeps ticking.
I ride upon a suicidal roller coaster, day in and day out-
No one goes to heaven anymore.
I have traveled to the eternal land of the dying,
In this place no one shall ever see the light of day again-
A glimpse of the sun would be a taste of heaven-
I still can only taste the bitterness of liquid Thorazine
Tickling my tongue-god has forsaken me and
Locked me in this place.
I have never seen heaven before and it is only ten past one
My cry for help has been silenced.
I do not speak and only angels sing.
I cannot see beyond these dingy, yellowed walls.
This place is my graveyard, and
Hell has succumbed and taken over me.
There is no room for levity in this dungeon-
I am none but a ghost and only angels sing in heaven-
I hear their voices – the closest I can get to heaven-
And those voices they say aren’t even real, so-
I continue my solitary walk up and down these halls-
Here in the land of the evil dead,
I belong, Sadly, I belong…

Claudia Krizay