The Nights You Are Awake

I know there are nights you awake and the mind with it’s insisted demanding

Just wants to have a chat

With you and your many iterations.

But you want to sleep.

So you throw a plaid clad leg outside the covered fortress.

To cool things down

To calm the voice between your eyes.

It continues to yell, and fight, and scream

It brings up your past guilt.

Brings up future pain

You take a deep breath and hope to inhale those thoughts.

Banish them to the deepest part of you stomach

And you whisper to the empty room

Illuminated with only the light bars formed from the street lamp glowing through the Venetian blinds

That you wished you were tired.

Then you worry about the missiles overseas

You worry about rising sea water and the melting artic ice caps

You worry about the polar bears

Your worry about you boss

About your work

About you kids

About your wife 

You worry about your weight and blood pressure

You worry about cholesterol

You worry about the dark spot on you gums just above the second molar.

You worry about money.

About the brakes on you fucking car

About losing your parents 

You worry about losing you mind.

You worry about losing time

And then the alarm sounds.

You stand in front of the bathroom mirror and put on your mask for the day.

And move your tired bones out the front door

Cory Decker

                                 

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When We First Met

I breathe you in and forget who I am

Hold you and lose my ego in the wilderness of your spirit

Gaze into eyes of hazel and swim to a safe harbor

I age and expand, and am reborn in your presence

Through happenstance and chaos and fire

Through infinite confusion

Through unimaginable anxiety

Through the cracks in my armour

Your light shines deep

Your radiance brightens the dark corners

Chasing the shadows to the far reaches of the earth.

Driving the demons to the depths of a tumultuous sea.

And I am awakened

I am In Love

 

 

The CoDe

Cory I. Decker

 

With Quill in Hand

To imagine such beauty

Delivering life to the unconceived

This is an admiral pursuit – a justified purpose

Yet a longing

A yearning

A desire

An unquenchable thirst

Our burden – our gift in disguise

With souls full of doubt and papers filled with dry lines

We struggle with mediocre thoughts

Incoherent and illegible

We compartmentalize letters and messages

Deep within the cortex

Exposing the truth of our being

Conveying our emotions

Wrapping deliverence with prose and ribbons of love.

 

The CoDe

Cory I. Decker

 

WOUNDED

I am wounded.  

Stiched up very crudely 

Just enough so I don’t bleed out.  

Still wounded. 

Carrying this bag of bones 

Filled with cuts and brusies 

Handed to me from my six year old self.  

Walking wounded

Holding all  thoughts

Gripping the pain and loneliness 

As if it were a cherished stuffed animal.  

Silently wounded

A controlled tongue 

Minding my words  

Dancing through the tulips grown from an Earth covered in eggshells.

Covered in unintended neglect

Forever wounded

I Hurt some days

I Hate some days

But I am Loved all days

For I am wounded

Yet I am loved

And therein lies my magic

Cory I Decker

The Routine

“It’s nothing” she said

“Nevermind” she said.

And went about her way sweeping each corner

The second hand audible in the next room

The clock on the kitchen wall, a wedding gift

Creating a cadence that made her tired.

Tired of the cycle

Tired from sweeping each corner.

Her movement heard by slippers scuffing the way to four points

Slippers stained with drug store box hair dye.

Shuffling around this room

Creating a sound that marries well with the ticks of the second hand 

In the next room

Slipping into a trance

She is tired of the cycle.

“I’m fine” she says.

“It’s nothing” she says.
Cory Decker

I am not my name

I am not my name.

I was given my name

By people who hadn’t yet met me

It does not define me

Before I entered  I was not ldentified by letters

The light that is within me has no name.  

The body I have been given holds my identity with overbearing affection.

And I can drive this vessel through the valleys and below the hill tops

When lost I will search for my beacon 

Behind rib bones

Through flesh and blood.

Below the superficial surface that is my skin.

I am 

I am

I am
And that is all

Cory Decker

Frost

The six o’clock painted me a picture

Of a polar bear surfing an ice flow

Destined for a climate much too warm for his kind.

Townfolk were scared

I think they said the bear was hungry.

Down here looking for food

In neighborhood trash cans

Dodging bullets.

A brave nomad not willing to stay in place while

his habitat gets destroyed and he goes hungry

Adaptation becomes his purpose

Exploration his only choice.

The food has gone from where it once was.

Life is melting and water rising

And this bear surfs the tides

Many miles from where he belongs

His Cubs long forgotten

His kind long forgotten

His home disappearing.
Cory Decker

Longer Blinks

I Recline

Eyes lifted on a geometric illusion

The laborer of my mind commences digging trenches

An exhausting endeavour for even the strongest will

But connections are to be made

Paths forged through slate

New trails for the new trials

 

With the darkness before me

My blinks become longer

My dreams or nightmares closer

The bright glow in my sight-line shows a figure that make lies sound like truth

Somewhere as I drift in the space that exists between wakefulness and sleep

I wonder if the lies are the dreams

The truth the nightmares

 

Then I am falling, speeding to the bottom of some icy pit

Before I hit the snow below, I awake with a weight on my sternum

Screaming no sound

Moving nothing but weak from trying

Energy depleted from digging trenches

Making connections

Forging paths

Preparing new trails for my trials ahead.

 

Cory Decker

I’ve Been Dark

It’s been dark around these parts

The roamers have been squinting

Seeking answers

Searching for reasons

The knowledge they desire,

Are answers for questions given to children

Too young to understand.

Comprehension is a virtue to these lost ones.

Sight comes and goes, providing scant glimpses of the soul they long to meet.

One day they see themselves through the raindrop filled glass of a cars rear window.  

Familiar blue eyes peeking over a grey door panel as it passes the front of a church.

The seekers now wondering if that version has figured it out.  

Is it not as dark over there?

Is it all nothing but illusions?

I plead not.  The image is not illusion

But reflection.

The situation has been isolated

The isolation has been situated

On this canvas.

There are no walls. No cage

There are no limits 

I know this now for I have been dark at other hours.

Yet lately I am a seeker

I’ve been dark and so very quiet.

Not silent. The hours are not silent.

Our quiet is never silence.

Cory Decker