Matt's Blog

The Valley

2008-07-22T05:07:00.000-07:00

I pull up, clutching my chest
as fire sears my lungs
in short, ragged breaths.

Before me lays a scene of
indescribable beauty, a scene
most people merely hope to see
before they reach their deaths.

I double, retching, fighting for
air as my body empties itself
upon the ground.

Only then, stomach settled,
lungs filling slowly with oxygen,
do I appreciate what I have found.

Winding lazily through a forest of pines,
a stream feeds a river,
the river feeds a lake.

As I watch, a strong northern wind
blows through the trees, leaving only
the distant cawing of birds in it's wake.

The sun sits low behind
distant mountains, glaring
across the valley at me
on the cliffs where I stand.

In the distance, a band of horses
runs through the stream: wild, free;
their flesh unmarred by brand.

I close my eyes, and I am with them,
roaming where heart and
hoof take me, subject to none.

Yet too soon my eyes are open,
the vision fading faster than
the setting sun.

I could find no words, and thanked this
place with a solitary tear.

But it was not the river, nor the wind,
nor the trees that replied.

As the sun hid itself from view, the
gunshot rang out, echoing for all to hear.

And I found comfort in the simple fact
that I had seen this place before I died.

the dream

2007-08-01T18:58:00.000-07:00

i longed for
the freedom
of travel,
the open road,
the poetic soul,
and all that lay
within the dream
i had invisioned

i was given
the company
of convicts,
the crowding
of mind and body
resembling nothing
of the dream
i had invisioned

i was given
a family of four,
whose future rested,
not on themselves,
but on the promise
of uncharted territory,
chasing the dream
millions have invisioned.

meh

2007-07-29T16:50:00.000-07:00

from light
to black
and back
again.

thus goes
the tale
of all
great men.

eh

2007-07-29T16:43:00.000-07:00

and then it hits you-
all the shit
all the grime
all the things you never see
because you see them all the time

this poem really only makes sense if you know the exact nature of everything that's gone on the last couple of months, up until about yesterday.

2007-07-26T04:30:00.000-07:00

the end has come to me
as it comes to us all.
in the dead of the night,
softly, quickly, painfully.

as i shuffled this coil,
i struggled not,
for my body was spent
after three months of toil.

i worked for her heart
and, finally (at last!),
things were as good
as they were at the start.

yet i needn't have bothered;
for all that matters in the end
are the pointless quarrels
between sons and their fathers.

Politics

2007-07-25T19:28:00.000-07:00

what becomes of the men who die
without a name?
without a home?
without a life?

what becomes of the men who try
to change their fate?
to change the world?
to change back time?

what becomes of the men who lie
to their families?
to their countries?
to themselves?

fuck

2007-07-25T02:12:00.000-07:00

and there i lay,
dead in a sea of confusion,
drowning as the tides of love
beat me incessantly against
the jagged rocks of the harbor
that once held refuge from the storm

i'm sorry this sucks...it's late. i promise i'll expand, or cut it if i can't.

2007-07-23T03:25:00.000-07:00

softly she whispers,
drawing him in.
calling him to her,
willing him to sin.

conversations with the dead

2007-07-21T07:11:00.000-07:00

why
why what
why of all things did you choose this
choose what
dont
dont what
dont fuck with me you know what i mean
i didnt
dont
dont what
dont spout that shit about being an alcoholic and not having a choice
i didnt
fuck
fuck what
fuck you is what
please dont
why
why what
why after everything should i not say fuck you
im dead
and
i tried
no you didnt you gave up you quit
please matt
no
believe me
im sorry but i cant

what was i to do
deny who i was
or
leave you boys behind
what kind of choice is that

you know youre right
that is a difficult choice
but
those werent your options
we loved you regardless

youre right
i know
im sorry
i know
i love you
i know

god i cant believe im talking to you
youre not
fuck
exactly

Pirate Poetry?

2007-07-20T02:52:00.000-07:00

despite the hair pulled to a greasy ponytail
the months spent apart once he set sail

despite the eye, covered and patched
the voice that grated, sawed, and scratched

despite the girls with whom she knew he would flirt
the parrot which squawked and shat on his shirt

despite the beer, the rum, and the whiskey
the slur of his speech as he got a bit frisky

despite dirty jokes with masts, cannons, and oars
the drunken encounters with prostitutes and whores

despite the fact that he couldn't always "fire it"
the man that she loved was a damn dirty pirate

Guess Not

2007-07-18T19:02:00.000-07:00

"I have only one yardstick by which I test every major problem - and that yardstick is: Is it good for America? "
-Dwight D. Eisenhower

The boots fall in time, in step, in rhythm
Pounding, beating, drumming with precision.
These boots must overcome hunger, pain, and poverty
As they march on the capitol to gain their sovereignty.

In the battle that follows, many men give their lives,
For their country, their freedom, their children, their wives.
Ecstatic, triumphant, the troops give a cheer
Expecting US aid will soon be drawing near.

The troops wave their flags, calling our planes
Then run for cover as their flags burst into flames.
Their leaders radio for aid on their flank
Then fall silent as the tower is struck by a tank.

A man stands patient, watching the news
As the triumphant youths find themselves beginning to lose.
As Soviet troops fall in line, in step, in rhythm
Pounding, beating, killing with precision.

Together, We Both Go Down

2007-07-18T13:39:00.000-07:00

The moon’s glow doth give you light
As I rise from my knee this fateful night.

And we, embracing, profess our love
Then liken our souls to the morning dove.

As we, weeping, throw our bodies to the night
Forever together in darkness as the world turns to light.

Empty Bottles, Empty Promises

2007-07-18T12:58:00.000-07:00

Empty bottles, empty promises,
Empty life for your wife and kids.
You seek to hide from your own dark truths,
Forever scarring two innocent youths.

Life of hardship, life of sorrow,
Life which made you dread tomorrow.
Bottles of filth you swore tasted good,
Hateful little cans that robbed your manhood.

“Who are you sir and where is my father?
Your life is a joke; you are a bother.
Tell him, man, when he’s done having fun
Tell him this message from his youngest son:

Heavy slumber from you which you would not wake,
How many bottles did it take?
I will not falter, I will not cry,
As I did on the first night you died.”