The Walk

September 16, 2016 ~ 06:28pm

The Walk
by Mauriat Miranda

as we walk together, the hurt grows more
holding hands, the bonds never fall weak
the weight of the feather burdens to the floor
washed in an ocean where subdued are the meek

our ship stands silent in a flood of words
driven by the needs of forgotten times
when the talking parents have never heard
the sweet sensation of their childhood rhymes

the dying embers screaming for fire
the cries in the darkness longing for light
hoping for better, ashamed by their desire
the never learned their wrongs were right

laughter in the midst, simplifying our pain
the broken pieces held together by fate
falling apart they will cure the insane
with the time that we have it's never too late

and all our tomorrows are forgotten in our past
looking at each other, we are far, far part
those who finish first forget those who are last
to live one's life, one must kill the heart.

This is a poem that I wrote somewhere in the spring of 1997. I don't know where the original handwritten copy is, but I submitted it for my high school literary magazine "Full Circle" and it was actually selected for print. The only online record I could find was on some Geocities archive.

On the surface the words seem to describe a failing relationship. The editors of the magazine at the time were certain it was about a girl. And while there was a girl at the time, there is no way she deserved even a fraction of the creativity I put into writing this. The truth was much more simple: I was just trying to be "provocative". Of course I mean from my silly high school perspective. I was even just hoping someone would think its about my personal experience. ... I'm such a fraud. Regardless, I was somewhat impressed with myself when I pieced it together some 19+ years ago!

Reading it now: everything feels so forced, the meter is inconsistent and it just doesn't flow. However if I pause from being critical, there is one thing that I find interesting today: It's that even though this was written void of any true sentiment, parts of it do evoke some emotion for me now. Kinda crazy.

I'll have to take a note to remember to read this again in another 19 years or so.