rog's poems

in English, we say “It is what it is.”

in poetry, we say:

“the sun will set,
the tide will turn,
the stars will rise and fall again,
and the rose will bloom.

time will not stop
as the world turns
and the wind blows.

it may not always be fair,
or kind,
or clear,
but it’s okay.”

the wind presses in-
soft, then cruel,
yet the lantern quivers,
a quiet flame holding firm,
never letting go of its light.

the hourglass turns over,
sand beginning to fall
as time ticks down-
slowly.

each grain a breath,
memory of what was
or hint of what will.

patience must be had
as the light shifts
and shadows lengthen.

take the leap.

time is ticking.

clocks no longer tick,
crickets lose their chirp,
and the stars fade away.

it approaches-
silence
darkness

despair?

nothing appears.
the journal is open,
staring back like still water.

i sit.
i wait.
it doesn’t help.

words used to mean something,
now they’re just floating
but also sinking.

even silence
feels like noise.

maybe i am empty.
maybe the page is right.

the first time-
bitter,
dark,
a taste that didn’t settle.

a few revolutions pass
and i attempt again.
still bitter,
slightly tart,
but a new experience.

now?
sweetness i crave,
flavor i desire,
and memory that will last.

the ceiling drips into the floor
as my body forgets its shape-
just a blur of colors,
a slow spin,
a pulse too loud in my ears.

the world leans sideways,
whispering through teeth
i can’t see.

i’m not well,
but i’m not gone.

my hands still shake,
but still hold.

roses are red
violets are blue
the sun comes up
but that doesnt mean i do.

the ice melts
before i can care
the reflection looks back
and no one is there.

people keep talking
but silence feels loud
the day continues
while i’m lost in this crowd.

time moves forward
but i stay behind
everyones living
and me?

well i’m just alive.

first it was a shadow
on a wire-
still, watching,
like it knows how this story ends.

each day it got closer,
voice rough with pain,
calling not quite my name
but something else.

now it waits by the gate
before i open it,
as if its been here before,
and will be again and again.

anticipating.

time is quiet,
but so precious.

not all are worth it,
yet some make each second
feel like an eternity.

cherish that.