New Life

A stone wall,

Left alone in a meadow,

Clothed in moss,

And left to mellow,

Tall and sturdy,

But outwardly fragile,

Battered by weather,

And left to defile,

The stone wall it stands,

Against rain, against wind,

Claiming it’s happy,

The way that it is,

But flower patches,

Creep their way up,

It’s rocky precipice,

And cover it’s top

And though unannounced,

The wall starts to bloom,

The product of the flowers,

That grew on a tomb.

Always on my Mind

By: Jacob La Mar

Singed to the back of my eyelids,

My pupils, they sit there and view,

Red lines that burn designs,

Of my deepest longing for you.

They curl and split when needed,

Or they frill, blur, or change

The red lines that burn designs,

Take normal lines and rearage.

A soft curve rounds your cheek,

Falling lines design your hair,

The red lines that burn designs,

Even capture your glowing stare.

They draw with perfect clarity,

The way in which you are,

The red lines that burn designs,

Glow much brighter than the stars.

So if you wonder what I’m doing,

If I close my eyes in light,

I’m watching red lines that burn designs,

As if I was viewing you at night.

Immortal

By: Jacob La Mar

Immortalized in the mountains of my life, you are,

The high points that reach to the heavens,

They reach through my eyes to the stars,

Immortalized in my life, you are

Immortalized in the seas of my world, you are,

The ever changing, never yielding waves of the world,

They stretch in the distance so far,

So far your immortal in my world, you are.

Immortalized in the deserts of my dimension, you are,

The hot parts that enhance the suns rays,

Because it’s just another one of the many stars,

That immortalize you in my dimension, immortalized you are.

Immortalized in the world of, my world, you are,

The mountains, oceans, deserts, and everywhere else,

In the distance, they stretch so far,

So far immortalized in my whole world, you are.

Puppeteer

By: Jacob La Mar

What does love matter,

Even a love like mine,

Love’s not in the strings for me,

Because I’m just a puppet,

I have wooden legs,

Wooden arms,

But not a wooden heart,

I feel everything,

Love feels like a burning,

Like my heart is burning as if it was wooden

But I’m doomed to the fate of a puppet,

To the destiny of a puppet,

Forced to live under a greater force,

That pulls me in whatever direction is momentarily desired,

With no regard for the direction I desire,

For even as I speak, I think about you,

I think about the splintering old wood I’m made of,

And how you’re sanded and new,

And how that reason among others,

Causes my puppeteer to draw me away from you,

O how I despise my strings,

One constant reminder of my oppression,

Since I came into being,

Roughly cut to a basic shape,

In a mass producing puppet shop,

Where other, virtual identical’s to me,

Were also created,

Some to dance, some to speak,

Still others were made to sing,

But none were given their talents,

Nor their abilities, short of strings,

Some were even created just to open their mouths,

And when the puppeteer’s voice came out instead,

People would simply recline their heads and laugh,

And act like they believed the voice came from the puppets head,

But they knew as well as I know who controls our mouth,

The same person who my twins pretend, even to themselves to live without,

Regardless, despite they’re denial,

I think it’s obvious that some greater being,

Is up above us somewhere pulling the strings,

And if I speak the truth, I have but one hope,

That he’ll take my feelings into account and feel for both,

Myself, my twins, and my puppet love here on set,

And that he’ll draw us together in some way,

If she’s at my side through the puppeteer’s performance,

I would gladly perform under him on the stage.

An Ever-Fluttering Lash

By: Jacob Raymond La Mar

When dreaded feelings of impending doom,

Creep through the walls, and blossom from gloom,

That’s when the rights we presume to be ours,

Are shattered into shards that leave only scars,

Deep canyons of nothing that used to be something,

Anything to define the identity we thought was ours,

We thought it was ours, we thought wrong,

The disparity between wholeness and loneliness is not long,

And the time it takes to move from one to the other,

Is like the flutter of an eyelash that continues to blink forever.

The Mind is a Fickle Thing

By: Jacob La Mar

O when will I ever escape from this,

Self-made mental prison I’m in,

I made it myself and I stay in it willingly,

While every second of everyday the walls, close in.

This prison is my curse,

It is my sanctuary too,

I hide within its solid walls,

But get hidden more than I choose.

I want a shield from the hurt,

Which the walls provide,

But the silence from these walls,

Only confide from the inside.

I hear many voices,

They make me feel I’m not alone,

But the self behind the noise,

Is only named as an echo.

And the echo only says,

What’s already been said,

Since the only self to say,

Is the say that’s in my head,

I am alone.

I am alone.

Corridors branch off from this,

Prison-like chamber,

The cold drafts from these hallways,

Suck away happiness, purpose, anger.

Leaving me only loneliness,

The painful pang of unknown,

As empty as my surroundings,

I hear the echo.

I am alone,

I am alone,

"O solid walls,

What is life outside this prison,

Are there others out there,

Who were born to talk, only to listen,

Am I the only one who travels,

Through a world with such a maze,

An amazing, wonderful,

Woeful, and dull place.

Answer me solid wall,

If I’m to be locked in your confines,

Than shouldn’t walls take liberties,

To ease a taunted mind."

But there will be no answer,

No crack of a mouth will break the stone,

The only reply, an echo,

I am alone,

I am alone.

Sleep Comes to Those Who Wait

By: Jacob La Mar

In the midnight hours of silence,

Harboring a not so peaceful sleep,

Dreams come to life,

From the pathways which they keep.

The innocence of words,

From a non-hindered mind,

Regular human insecurities,

Cast to the side.

The shadows on the walls,

Skin they cannot find,

Because all that’s left to hear,

The wondrous prayers of the mind.

The deepest feelings,

From the deepest depth of a being,

Resonance of every noise,

Made, or non-made, rings.

Every shudder or quake,

Every twitch, every sigh,

Falls under privilege,

Of enamored eyes.

But still dreams lie to sleep,

Beautiful senses go to rest,

Harboring dreams and fantasies,

Sleep in these hours of silence.