existential – Page 6 – Kevin Trent Boswell

storage space

it does not require
very much square footage
to store melancholy

it fits neatly
inside of an eye

discouragement will
fit perfectly
in the bottom
of one shoe,
ennui in the other,

and you’ll still have
wiggle room
for your toes,

as you walk around
no place special,
all by yourself

loneliness doesn’t
take up much space

it fits easily
into a single
empty hand

Foregone Inconclusive Executioner

Not the brightest of men,
I have walked into walls,
Chasing pleasant illusions,
Elusive pleasures

But even I,
Tiny bean brain that I may be,
Have enough sense
To stand back from the flames,
To stay clear of fires that
Rage beyond my control

Red, blustery, passionate,
These rueful waves of the sun
Crackle against the marbled rings
Of Kronos’ cold steel slave rings

The hard master yields nothing easily

I can summon enough sense
To feed myself when my bones
Become brittle with hunger

But I cannot make a meal
Out of the dust and dry reeds
Of another’s feverish pangs

There is no sustenance in another’s
Temporary fits of dissatisfied craving,
The ghoulish haunting caused by
Dwelling in the discontent of
A desiccated shell, which they are
Reluctant to abandon

When war swings its broadsword
At the throat of its enemy with full vigor

And the enemy,
Equally skilled in the art of slaughter,
Parries with a great sword
In just the knick of time,
At a perfect right angle,
There will inevitably come
A clanging sound most awful

Sparks will pour off steel weaponry
Sweat and cruel words will fly,
And the thirst of demons is slaked
With someone’s blood

The only question is, “Who’s blood?”

The answer is always the name of
Someone stupid enough
To stand too close to the fray

Such a someone does not
Keep their name very long

The surgical procedures
Of iron, hatred, and discontent
Removes the name like a tumor,
Placing it in a small wooden box and
Burying it in the yard, like a dead bird,
A former family pet who
Gave up the ghost

Except, that the bird was well-loved, and
Grieved for after its passing

The name of the fool who stands
Between plumes of martial fire
And the incontinence of the unhappy
Is quite unceremoniously
Peeled from the imbecile’s face and
Dropped in a shallow grave
With all the careful consideration
A person observes when tossing
A banana peel into the garbage

A miserly liver of life,
Who cherishes comfort above all else,
Will angrily slit the throat
Of one who offers them a cup of wine,
When the skinflint is busy
Swearing to the deliciousness
Of the sand in their parched throat

A plate of fresh fruit and venison
Is smacked hastily from the hand,
When offered to the prisoner
Who enthusiastically requests
A second helping of gravel and worms

No, it is far wiser to step back

Stay clear of one who is firmly committed
To the cause of consistency,
Merely for convenience’s sake

Let the dice, lightning bolts, and swords
Fall where they may;
So long as it is not upon your neck

Under Your Feet

Author’s Note: Yesterday, I learned that someone passed away in my apartment building (presumably within a day or so of when I heard about it). I had never met them and they hadn’t been living here long at all. Their death was apparently not unexpected; I was told that they were in poor health before they ever arrived here.

The weird thing is, they lived in the apartment right below mine. But stranger still, I had occupied that apartment myself, up until just a few months ago. When my current unit became available, I took the opportunity to move because it’s quieter on the top floor. While I don’t think I ever met the tenant, it was a brisk reminder that death is never far away.

Death is right under your feet
But try to put it out of your mind
There are chores to do and
Demands to meet
So, try putting it out of your mind

Death is coming up behind you
It is wise to not make a stink of it
Since you cannot stop it, and
There’s nothing you can do,
It’s best to try and not think of it

There beside you, Death hovers
I suggest you pretend not to notice
It will pounce on nervousness,
Any weakness it discovers,
So, just casually appear not to notice

It may approach you from any angle
You are bold, but Death is much bolder
You can tell it’s there by the cold, stale air
That envelopes your throat to strangle
Death patiently perches on your shoulder

Heavy

I see the length of rope that hangs you
I know how you are trapped from within
There’s nothing for you that I can do
Don’t expect you’ll come down again

The invisible shackle on your leg
I feel its ponderous weight, as well
The lock and key don’t belong to me
And neither does your hell

There is no gag to mute your voice
You chose to choose, to beg, to ask
When asked about your final choice
The words could not escape the mask

The floor is yours; of me, no trace
Stepping away, discharging a sigh
One heavy heart, one double-face
For someone other than I

The music and poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell.jpg — The Music, Poetry, and Madness of Kevin Trent Boswell

Not Long for This World by Kevin Trent Boswell — — Most recent book release, available on Amazon —

Magus72 on Patreon - the music, poetry, and madness of Kevin Trent Boswell — Magus72 on Patreon – the music, poetry, and madness of Kevin Trent Boswell

a poem unworthy of a name

emptiness strode in
and took the place of fullness

redirection and symbolism
flailed like untrained children,
beating each other with
soft, half-balled-up fists;
fists that were incapable
of accurate aim

there was little violence, many tears

still, it was less comical
and more sad

the end result of
all of this
is nothing more than
emptiness

I am not there,
nor are you,
nor is anything,
nor is anyone else

it is all full
of nothingness
now

and anyone who
can look at this mess
and say that there’s anything
good about it

that’s someone who needs
to have all their teeth
knocked out of their mouth

now
it is all full
of nothingness