Chris Everly
 

People always seem to talk about their accomplishments, their careers, their passions, the things that society measures us against, in these brief bios. But does that ever tell the reader who we really are? Instead of sharing with you all those pointless credentials, I will give you a piece of who I really am. I have lived my life contemplating “The Road Not Taken.” I have not spent a day not thinking about it since I first read it as a boy. It has meant a lot of different things to me over the years, and if I could change the last stanza to sum up who I am, it would read like this:
 
One paved smooth so polished and nice.
One littered with grass, but mostly of gravel.
I went back home, after thinking it twice,
And will be back someday with better advice.
After all, I will never be too old to travel.
 

 

 
 
Frost’s Roads

Crossroads that haunt, I’ve been to that bend.
I touched those two that have come before.
And thought to myself I may come again,
Just stood there looking without a friend,
For a shortcut through that wooded core.

I heard the sounds of the beating brook.
I felt the wind through that yellow wood.
I held the dirt that seldom, people took,
Wanted to turn and run, but only looked,
Got some courage, but still there I stood.

So many people before, have come and gone.
I thought of them then as I stood that day,
Peering into the night with no end till dawn.
They found their way, how did they go on,
Without even a sign to point their way?

One paved smooth so polished and nice.
One littered with grass, but mostly of gravel.
I went back home, after thinking it twice,
And will be back someday with better advice.
After all, I will never be too old to travel.




Summer’s Goodbye

Rain clouds drift past this New England day.
With the dawn of fall the cold wind kisses.
Blowing a promise of summer all but away,
And leaving behind just the foliage to stay,
The frost is near with little hope it misses.

Frolicking leaves tangled in colored masses,
The rain starts its scurry with a piercing lance.
Sunshine huddled away as the hail splashes,
As if taking shelter until the darkness passes,
Riddled sky of tomb enveloped its last chance.

With nodded head, a glance up to grayed sky,
Wielding nothing to shield from a cold decree,
The patter stings my face as the heavens cry,
And I welcome it, having nothing more to try.
Winter’s cleansing call now is all that I see.

With every drizzling drop she draws still nearer,
Not having anything to do now but wait to lye.
A brief sigh to myself and it’s all much clearer,
I look down to a puddle, into that wet mirror.
The reflection staring back is summer’s goodbye.





Lull...
A slideshow of memories burned into the darkness
Of our fallen souls,
Visions so condensed and concentrated
They could never be widowed.
That lull in time weaved so intricately
Through the fabric of our demise,
Pales in comparison to the utter chaos
Of our weeded past and future.
It gleamed of iridescent,
But faded just as fast.

I wish I could have spent an eternity
Just looking into our eyes.
We will always be that calm in our chaos;
That shade for our rain.
Time could never garnish what we have given,
Nor will it heal us.

And we will spend an eternity waiting
For what time will not grant.
And we will spend an eternity waiting
For what hope maybe will.

Until then, I’m grateful for our lull…




Hearsay

I heard it from someone else.

A whisper as I sat alone,
In a phalanx of dark.
Inhaling absolutes,
Exhaling salted breaths of
Yes’, no’s,
Blacks and whites,
Wrongs then rights.
This oversized tank
Of wilted memories
Sustains fallen rumor.

I heard it from a dream.

Like a fresh amputee,
Waking for the first,
They already know.
The cold sweat starts
Just before.
Jumping up in a hurry,
Praying it was nightmare.
Horror feeds it.
The sheer of missing it,
Of being denied it.

It spoke from the bustle.

Cannonballs rain,
Flightless frights of envy.
Stark reminders of the busy.
Plans of fancy, dance
Along a high wire.
They know not
Of any consequence,
Embraced only by a moment
Of their circumstance,
They wait to be next.

I heard it from you.

Said in innuendo,
Words of suggestion,
Frolic sentences,
Stream past unwilling,
Tones of despair.
Awareness waited on,
Held back for the last.
Menace to my dissolved
Being, the words,
“I have to go back.”

I prayed it was hearsay.




Rambling!

Rambling in the darkness of this frustration, severing all ties to reality and sanity,
Cycling through vivid and countless memories trying to grasp this horrid realization,
And knowing that an attempt at making amends, repenting, may be all for not.
Numerous mistakes, lies, sins I have made distort all remnants of who I was or am.
The only satisfaction, perhaps nil at best, is the faith I sustain in us, but it’s fleeting.

Rambling in the darkness of this frustration, severing all ties to reality and sanity,
Fate, or the appearance of choice, is a contradiction that is enwrapped in my being.
Seesawing back and forth between arguments, enthralled with that Devil’s Advocate;
Enthralled, because once I teetered just on one side, that is before I saw you.
Now imprisoned in this constant state of indecision, forever I’ll be waiting for release.

Rambling in the darkness of this frustration, severing all ties to reality and sanity,
Making appearances, still mistakes, barely holding together this façade of pretension,
Like a circus performer, a balancing act is all I have now, struggling not to fall off.
There is no real cure for this affliction on which I have become dependent.
No cure, no remedy, no release from this constant emptiness, I may never be complete.

Rambling in the darkness of this frustration, severing all ties to reality and sanity,
Force-feeding myself looks and fake smiles, innuendo and speculation from others.
Like a terminally ill patient, receiving false empathy, hearing whispers under their breath.
Oblivious to all, I stumble around this fetal existence, dodging inflicted obstacles.
Frost was wrong, those “Roads” were not worn the same. They are not there at all.

Rambling in the darkness of this frustration, severing all ties to reality and sanity,
Condemned in a constant state to a revelation of this monstrosity, this injustice,
Acknowledging, matter of factly, the almost certain demise of my conformity,
Rummaging through the ordinary, concealing myself in the mundane,
Voiced but misinterpreted, shades seen in black and white, foreshadowed in gray.

Rambling in the darkness of this frustration, severing all ties to reality and sanity,
Trying, but failing, to escape, elude, even hide, searching for an inner evacuation plan.
Images blur my surroundings, abrasive, corrosive, utter destructive barriers installed.
Seen, but not seen. Heard, but not heard. Found, but lost. Bitterly cold and yet scorched.
A paradox of which I have been encased, seemingly endless, it taunts my every thought.

Sharing now nothing but monotony, reluctantly thrust back into our roles as drones.
We both had just a taste of what spontaneity was, that venom ever so poisonous.
And now just a meager shell of what we once were, there will be no salvation,
For that, there is no denying, we found the impossible and lost it. It will haunt us.
Rambling in the darkness of our frustration…

 

Copyright © 2010 Chris Everly