Fighting A Different Battle

By Benjamin Grossman and Cassa Bassa

Two millennia ago 
I would’ve cried
Stony tears 
Like the stoics of legends

Today
For the injustices raging 
Against shared truth
I scream in silence 
Like a fallen knight 

There are no more 
Heroic battles 
On a field of dirt and dust
Where men were once raised
To die for future honor

We hide behind 
Neuro electro defenses
Attacking lives
Without sounding
The trumpet

Am I a departed
Clutching the white flag
Crippled by reality 
Or my own fatal mind?

(This is part of a collaborative poetic effort between myself and Cassa Bassa. Make sure you check out her blog by visiting Flicker Of Thoughts. She’s one of my favorites to read!)

Only

He only loves you
From the bottom of his heart
I’ll love you from the top-down

He only wants to live in a home
I want to live in the clouds
The true dwelling place of lovers

He only wants you
For who you were
I want you for who you are and
Who you’ll become

You’re only a number to him
A one or maybe less
But I love you like the numerical value of pi

You’re only his sweet
His honey, some dessert
But you are my nourishment

He only wants to be your king
I want you to be my queen

He only asked
For your hand
I’m asking for your whole body
Even the invisible parts

Meditation On Seasons Of The Body

Summer comes first. Always, summer comes first with a sunlight-like weight upon your shoulders. Everything, everyone is a light bulb, a candle that cannot be blown out despite the murderous winds. Pleasure dresses the unknown. Wonder builds an unexplored city. Doors open doors that open doors that expose your eyes to the play areas of enjoyment: mountains of dreams, slides of hope, clouds for trampolining. But spring comes next: the realization of the mirror, the blossoming of other eyes upon you. Thorns grow where they’re not supposed to and bars fence in your heart. Winter storms in like a hic … cup. Here, frozen faces stop smiles. Invisible clouds shield you from the forgotten warmth of yellow. Longing impregnates your mind, swallows softer thoughts until they sink below the surface of love. And finally you enter the fall, lose your footprints amongst the leave-carpeted floor. Some days your eyes are green and some days they are red. But most days your eyes are so black that you forget about the changing of the seasons.

(Originally published at the Eunoia Review here.)