Empires

loveletterstoaghost

image

I have built
an empire of words
carved and excavated
from the bottom
of this place
I call a soul,
and they still
boil and churn
below my lucid skin
waiting to be stacked
against your ears.
They stand stoic
in their line of doubt
and place crowns
on ignorant folly,
and I can’t stop building.
Mortar covers my hands,
sticks to my fingers,
drives grit under my nails,
and the wall towers.
The tips tangle
with the clouds
and create endless shadows
made of memory.
This castle
of lines and phrases
blinds the world from sun,
submerges the flocks in black.
People wade
in my kingdom of letters,
my empire of words,
and you are on your island
in the silence of the light,
your ears the only ones
empty of my voice.

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Tuesday Afternoon

I’m going to write. Because some guy just pissed me off

>>I keep getting interrupted.

Anyway. This guy in a blue shirt was by the door talking on the phone when I walked in today. I was still in my coat and everything so I didn’t say anything to him. He wouldn’t know that I was an employee here. I didn’t think I looked like one. I left him alone. I went to the bathroom. He was still there when I came back. I still didn’t say anything. I still wasn’t working yet. I still didn’t look like I worked here. By the time I had gone to the back, put my things down, and come back out, he was still there, but he was barely audible amidst the low rumble in the library, so I didn’t say anything to him. Plus I had already passed him twice without saying anything. I thought I would be ineffective if I said anything then. Therefore I didn’t.

After a while there was another patron by the gates talking on the phone. Her we could hear. I didn’t want to say anything just because I wasn’t in the mood, but then a student needed help with the copy machine. I thought it was a great and timely opportunity. I would help her with the copier and I would ask the lady to step outside with the phone call. She was, after all, right there.

I went to help the student, but before I did, I asked the lady to go through the door. I asked the same of the man in the blue shirt, who was still there. The lady apologised and stepped back. I didn’t watch her. The gentleman, in a not gentle manner, asked if I could hear his voice. He asked at least two times, maybe three. His voice was raised. My back was turned. I busied myself with helping the student with the copy machine and completely ignored the rude man yelling at me. When I was finished helping the student I turned around and saw that the lady was still inside on the phone. I thought she had gone out. That added to my anger.

I had just come in to work. I had had a low morning and a close to awful night. Why?

>>Oh look, this is good enough to put on my blog.

Oh I forgot one thing. It looks like I really do hold grudges.

There were four of us behind the desk and nothing for me to do, so I decided to take a walk around and push chairs in. The guy was sitting at one of the tables in front and while pushing chairs in I ended up at his table, on his side. He called to me. I asked if he needed help. He said yes. I asked with what. He said it was okay. It look like he finally realised that I work here, like he was trying to make amends for yelling at me. I was professional, but not warm or friendly. I was still upset with him. Whatever that was was not working to appease me.

>>

After my walk around the library I came back to the front and sat at a computer. The man had a phone call again. He went to the same area where he was before. This time I could hear him clearly. The library was quieter and so there was no noise to cover up his voice. I asked someone else to make sure he was outside with the phone. My coworker went and motioned to him that he needed to go outside. He raised his voice again and asked if it could be heard. My coworker told him yes. He then went outside. When he was finished he came back in and said sorry to the inside of the library before he quickly went into the bathroom.

I tried to write today,
but I fell short
a few paragraphs:
my heart too lost
in itself to try out
expression.

I had mentally prepared myself.
I had thought about it at least,
but for some reason
my fingers aren’t artistic
anymore.

Not that they ever
possessed any great skill,
but they had always been
able to release me
from myself.

Maybe snow storms every weekend
and deadlines crowding around
on my calendar
haven’t been helpful,
but damn it
I want to write.
I want my heart to speak
again.