• The Eastern Leaves


Two LIGHTS // by Chris Brecht 

There are two lights in this story. 

One for the shadows that are my hand over yours. 

One for my whisper that can sneak beneath the sun. 

I was young once. And I am young again. 

In your favor. 

Riding lonesome on motorcycles 

And wild into the night. 

Lighting fires against the darkness 

And giving myself helplessly

To any lover that was exciting. 

That was sacred. 

I was fragile once. 

Before I knew what years could do. 

The tip of lead pressed into the page 

And grafted to a word in the form of a feeling. 

I am no longer fragile. 

I was spirited once. 

in a trail of wind 

Destined to bring one morning back to its night. 

Throwing bottles like they were pieces of me. 

And frustration could put holes in my eyesight. 

My spirit makes a soul now. 

It’s not that I’m not scared of it

It’s that I don’t trust that it’s going to find me anytime soon. 

I am a warrior. 

It’s the hunter. I was the hunter once. 

All the tomorrows could end and I wouldn’t lean either way. 

I am a tide 

Of cold cold waters. 

I was much more cynical once. 

Allowing myself to be young and fragile and against the odds. 

I am no longer willing to be 

Made so easy. 

Consider and axe blade sharpened 

Too many times to count. 

The axe handle gripped so tightly for years 

that the wood becomes stronger and with shine. 

Each log it splits is the truth. 

I was naive once. 

I can allow myself to learn 

And walk into the musk of the night 

And grieve for years I let go 

too easily. 

There are two lights. 

One in the distance.

And one light in hand. 

The satin has frayed in this tired earth. 

That dream of mine will take a different form.  

And you will be standing there. 

Cold. Limp. And ready. 

Stay nearby. 

A lion knows where to den.

A bear knows when to sleep. 

Fish know when to spawn. 

What do I know?

I know how to live. 

I know what is done in an instant. 

I know how to subdue emotion before intuition,

And should I know when it’s time to go,

I was there once. 

I was there when it happened. 

And I was there when it began. 

Two LIGHTS // Chris Brecht

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