Shell
As if you were never here. Leaving like a dream I had again, waking shell-shocked
Head clear. I’ve been loving you like a story I don’t ever want to finish
I woke today to the kiss your vanishing-act promised. I’ll be a poet for the next six days at least
Before turning back to fiction because I’m feeling all the feelings
This movement, four legends adorn; then over like a curtain closing
That’s all we can clap for; the applause never questioned, simply faint in its huge roar
Like a wave breaking away, pulling itself back into the ocean, after its mass destruction lingers
At dawn’s constructions. May this partnership last leveling-out the city for us both
The suggestive mannerisms of the disheartened ill-content the crashing shore abhors
Sordid, as a mercenary plunders and rampages, wanting all the riches they must take
For they might never wonder. Why can’t I have that estate I tear down with thine eyes
Why must this devil of poverty be my resting place under this sky. Am I heartless,
Or do I simply believe I deserve it all? Does it matter, do I feel anything to reassure me
That this desire is wrong? Promise myself I’ll covet the quaint mansion’s gate
Place my body on the tops of what I need to be my fate. Leave all behind that which pries
At my needing heart to where I never want to die. Cry escaping phantom, cry.
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Stephen Bolen is a senior pursuing a Baccalaureate of Arts in English with a concentration in Literature. He is from Kotzebue, Alaska and writes poetry and fiction.