Ringside Sermon.

Ringside Sermon.

…and so often we look towards the Heavens
to ask for fulfillment of our petty desires
and solutions for our smallest problems
before we turn to look at ourselves…

Thud.
Bare knuckles
ring truth in the ears of
those once incapable of understanding,
now unable to stand.
Applause as his opponent’s
limp body hits sweat stained mat
but all he hears are police sirens,
echos of a life long forgotten–
voices over a radio requesting dispatch units
to 200 Block of South End
because John had too much and
Mom had finally had enough
so she tried to leave.
He’d prayed every day–
prayed she’d come to her senses
and walk out that battered front door.
If only she’d found the courage sooner.
If only he’d found the courage sooner!
Blood on his busted knuckles,
on his busted face–
he tried wiping it away after each fight
yet still he felt it staining his body.
Now to center ring they walk him,
hoisting his arms overhead,
outstretched towards the Heavens
praising a savior who’d never answered before
nor seemingly ever would–
a savior who’d never stepped up and into the ring
to fight for a boy who fought for a world
that never seemed to fight for him.
Under these lights nothing can hide,
no scars or bruises left unseen
by the prying eyes of those
who’d never truly comprehend
the Testament he wrote with each blow to the chest.
His verses written in blood,
he speaks to a different congregation–
a different kind of church.
Hard liquor fitting for paint remover
substitutes Communion wine
for a man who’d never know the difference.
He’s walked from the building
surrounded by bodyguards and training staff,
through throngs of people touching him,
blindly groping at his body
and singing the gospels of wanting and desire.
Over screams, cries, and chants,
he answers his crowd of disciples–
shouting to the thronging masses,
all of them worshippers
at his Saturday night ringside sermon.

-ZCS

**Image: “Dark Alley” via Deviantart

Reintroduction Dialouge

I haven’t written in a while.
No, that’s not true.
I haven’t posted in a while.
Better.
I haven’t posted in a while because I haven’t had anything I wanted to say.
Liar! Why aren’t you telling the truth?
I haven’t posted in a while because I haven’t had anything interesting to say.
Come on now, really?
I haven’t posted in a while because I haven’t had anything I thought other people would find interesting.
Ok, but people read your work for a reason. They read because they find you and your words interesting. So why not?
Life got so stressful and busy all of a sudden that there wasn’t really any time for me to formulate my thoughts into words, and to put those words on the page.
I’m hearing excuses for daily life.
I’ve been putting a lot of time into school work and adjusting college life.
So did a lot of people. I bet they kept writing.
Know what? Fine! I give! What do you think I should do?
Share what you’ve been working on.
It’s not ready.
Share it.
It’s not even interesting!
Share it.
Nobody will read it!
Share it.
Can I start tomorrow?
No, now.
Fine.

Red.

Red.

When I kiss you I see red
in different shades
and while it seems like every color
every sensation is more beautiful than the last
it doesn’t compare to that very first kiss
our very first time
when I was so unsure and so unprepared
and you were so nervous that you almost
bit my lip and laughed
my God I swear I saw bright hot iron red
deeper than the sweetest rose red
and I knew all of a sudden
you were the red I needed and
I guess it’s crazy how life works
because thanks to you life isn’t just grays
it’s a colorful kaleidoscope
of tumbling passion and desire
that always seems to start
with the red of your lips
that scorched mine like a desert drought
left me with the smell of cinnamon
the feeling of that very first kiss

-ZCS

Metro Eyes

Metro Eyes

Sitting on the Metro
headphones in
mind painfully blank
head inclined towards
tinted windows
eyes seeing nothing
skipping over cities
and motionless small towns
unmoving to eyes
too tired to detect movement
in the span of seconds
speeding by between blinks
of blurry blue eyes
fogging up as sleep nears
people standing and sitting
moving on and off and on
waiting for their station
undetected by eyes
lulled to sleep as
the Metro moves
and music plays.

-ZCS

Cough Syrup

Cough Syrup

Your words trickle
slow and sticky
making me splutter
cough and choke
leaving a sickly sweet
aftertaste reminiscent
of the flu
sick days at home
skipping school but
unable to leave bed
yet still
I’ve never felt
worse than
your words
poured down my
scratchy throat
coating it with
cherry lies
that can’t be
washed down
with hastily filled
glasses of tap water
or blistering hot soup–
fuck that burns
but I guess at least
that taste is gone
or will be
until your silver
spoon returns to
my trembling lips
my fevered skin
begging for relief
even if it’s
your words
I’ll probably choke
and spit out later.

-ZCS

Firelight Delight

Firelight Delight

If our eyes meet across the fire one more time,
I’m going to have to go over there and kiss you.
The night’s still young,
I’m still bold,
and you’re still beautiful–
so I hope you already know how this’ll go.
Everyone’s drinking,
but I stopped hours ago
knowing I’ll have to hit you with my whole arsenal
of cute pick up lines to even have a shot at taking you home
or making you mine.
You came with a date,
but he’s gone and I’m right here.
If you believe in fate like I do,
you’ll know that the stars are aligned
just for us in this perfect moment.
The party’s alive around us–
but the second in which we both currently stand
has come to a dead halt.
And there it is–
you looked.
-ZCS

*Image: “Campfire” via Deviantart by SilivrenTinu

Hometown Girl.

Hometown Girl.

When the lights dim on that empty football field,
and the night swallows the stands,
I’ll pull my sweatshirt over your shoulders
and press you closer to my chest.
For the first time tonight we’re alone,
no stray friends interrupting us in search of a seat.
In the silence,
I can hear you–
really hear you–
and you have me hanging onto each word,
like a drowning man set adrift in the sea
clings to a life preserver or a piece of driftwood.
The worst part is,
I didn’t realize I was drowning
until this very moment.
I hope you can’t hear the fear,
the kind that only a desperate man truly knows,
wavering in my shaky voice.
I’m just trying to push words out,
to make conversation with your smile.
You have several blond strands out of place,
and my fingers visibly tremor
as you let me reach across your delicate face
and slowly brush them away.
We walk to the car,
slowly enjoying these fleeting moments–
just me and my home town girl.
-ZCS

*Image: “Football Season” via Deviantart by tcday1994