Meanings


A snake had bit me
in my dream;
I grabbed it by the head.

Venom was in me,
it would seem,
so I whipped and beat it dead.

I looked for people
or a cure,
but I could find no aid,

and as I trudged on,
with pain so pure,
I forgot to be afraid.

I stopped to rest
beneath a tree
some time about midday,

and when I started
thinking free,
I knew that I would be okay.

What does it mean –
this dream I had?
I don’t think that there’s an answer.

You could examine
any tale and add
the legwork of a dancer.

I encounter things,
then make a choice
on how onward I shall go

and give little thought,
or little voice,
to meanings that I don’t bestow.

Copyright © 2018 – Adam Light

Endless Wall

 
In a dark and dreary, desolate place,
encompassed fully by stone brick,
there were many souls who tried to live,
but the darkness was too thick.

They called this prison Endless Wall
because that’s all they ever felt.
They knew it was destroying them,
and loathed the darkness that it dealt.

One day they heard a voice outside;
it sounded muffled through the stone.
But still they understood the words
that seeped in from the unknown.

“Speak to me, my worthy friends;
those of you who think you’re small.
Have no doubt that I can hear you
from this side of Endless Wall.”

Some perked up and listened close
while putting ears to scathing stone.
They were surrounded by each other,
yet shocked to know they weren’t alone.

“Hello, out there?” One voice called out.
“You can’t be real.” Another said.
“Oh, I’m as real as real can be,
and I know, for I’ve been dead.

“My friends inside, please speak to me!
I’ll echo back philosophy!
As we confer, you will grow tough,
and slow progress will be enough.”

“You can escape that wretched place.
(It’s a just a giant tomb, you know.)
And you can break through Endless Wall
with persistence, blow by blow.

Some of the souls took on the dare
and spoke philosophy right there.
They contemplated wrong from right
and learned to kindle inner light.

When they went back to Endless Wall,
they were fresh and new and sound.
They each picked out a single brick,
and on that brick, began to pound.

It took days, or ages, but they were fierce.
They used their minds and hands.
And eventually, each soul would pierce
through Endless Wall to see new lands.

As they climbed and floundered out,
each saw completely different places,
but they all saw one another then –
and how the sun shined on their faces.

They looked for the philosopher;
the one who helped them all break free,
but all they could find together was
a modest gravestone under a tree.

The gravestone had a message
that was different for each and all,
but one thing they all agreed upon
was that it was cut from Endless Wall.

Copyright © 2018 – Adam Light

A Timely Story

 

I’d had some good times
some victories
but they’d been lost
beneath the seas
I couldn’t remember
setting sail
nor recall
why I departed
I was just a sunken,
sodden fool
who couldn’t finish
what I started.

On a seabed,
I fell asleep
and breathed the water
way down deep
I saw monsters,
ill of eye
and saw myself
in mirrored glow
I knew I was
a dead myth then
and that I had
to let it go.

I swam up and up
and out the sea
and relished in
that victory
I flew above
the rolling waves
that sparkled from
a full moon’s light
and told myself
a timely story
that would only
last one night.

Disorder

 

Disorder, Disorder, my newly-found friend,
when Order finds me, our reign will end.

Judging and thinking I have not a base,
Order will swoop in and stifle my pace.

So please, Disorder, help me remember
that when freezing to death, you are my ember

and when trekking through these rigid lands
I can still create fire with my frozen hands.

That fire can roar and burn into the night
and signal old Order that we’ll be alright.

The Listener

in a cool, dark room
quiet, tinted blue
a song was click-played
obscure and new.

the listener
anxious to be impressed
did not fully
in the ordeal invest;

with critical ears
and hands of decree
the song stopped too soon
unfortunately.

another song
was then given go
as the listener
checked the window,

this one was beautiful
and uplifting of soul
for impatient hands
had left the control.

Loom

When I read a stranger’s poetry,
I often do prepare
for too much sentimentality
and more clichés than I care bare.

Rhyming words are thrown abound;
archaic words are too much seen.
The poets merely like the sound,
with little care for what they mean.

But sometimes, I’m forced to stand,
and I pace around the room,
for the poet has put heart to hand,
and deep within me their words loom.

Mine to Ponder

Thousands of movies and books
have shown me things that I’ve not seen,

but I don’t know how it all looks
away from the pages and the screen.

I look out upon the falling snow
as it paints and fluffs the village yonder

and I see it as some art to know,
with the rest still mine to ponder.