Faceless

Conversations created in zeros and ones,

Something’s lost.

Something’s wrong.

No subconscious signals,

No mirror neurons,

Just respond.

Respond.

I threw a stone at a man that struck him

In the eye.

As much as he tried to hide it, inside myself

I cried.

Sparked in a single moment’s transaction,

A frozen moment of reaction.

She is born from the pain of universal truth.

I wake in sweats remembering,

The stain of guilt that sticks to me.

Respond.

Arrested by anonymity,

Is the growth of…

I threw a stone in the dark.

I didn’t hear it fall.

As much as I tried to hear,

I don’t think it hit the floor.

Face-to-face is now replaced,

New life…

Naked in the wood.

And as trees fall in a digital wood,

They know not what they could.

Respond.

Simultaneity


When stress begins to take control.

Begin to think of time as whole.

.

Streams keep flowing as you think,

And death takes men with every blink.

One foot in fire; One in ice.

Arms outstretched in depth and height.

.

A child dies within the womb,

A flower dances in it’s bloom.

Love’s first kiss on nervous lips.

Flying birds and sinking ships.

.

Midnight, midday, they are the now,

Awake, Asleep, a death, a vow.

.

What are we but selfish beings?

Emotions flow immediately.

Perspective points of different seeing,

Stuck not in time, in sensory.

.

If I were time I’d laugh and cry.

In every second I pass by.

With focus on each lone event,

A flapping wing, a final breath.

.

Stress all you want and waste the day.

The trees don’t stress, they only sway.

A butterfly lands on a child’s nose,

And time holds more than what you know.

.

Written by Randall Evans.

Mind Control

Beware the path of instant dread,

That easy stream inside your head.

Red herrings swoop and plague your brain,

“What could be? Is it me?

Conclusions falling cold as rain.

.

Infant thoughts so soft and small,

While waiting longer for a call.

Clawing, scratching, desperate plea.

“What to do? Not a clue!”

Don’t follow your anxiety.

.

Quenching thoughts of self destruction,

Will your way to their disruption.

Avoid the fall into the view,

“It’s all done! I’m no one!”

And choose to think anew.

.

All you do is all you can,

Your mind’s direction needs a plan,

To stop the worry based on myth.

“I was true. Tomorrow’s new.”

Control the voices you live with.

.

Written by Randall Evans

The Broken Are The Kind

The broken are the kind
Who feel the pain in life
They try to pull your strife
Inside they feel the knife

The broken are the wise
Who wear a smart disguise
They make your spirit rise
Inside they shrink in size

The broken are the warm
Who feel the constant storm
They hold you ‘til the dawn
Inside their self is worn

The broken are the bright
Who make the crisis light
They joke to end the night
Inside their head’s in flight.

The broken are the kind
Who make you feel at ease
But if you swam their sea
You’d call the broken “Me”.

Written by Randall Evans

Silence

A week of trekking through torrential rain has my energy depleted, but as I turn my eyes to the sky I see her. The oldest tree in existence. I fall to my knees beneath the terrifying branches that hang over me like the pain of time pressing on my chest.

In my delirium I get to my feet and press through the sinking mud to the base of the great tree. The wind laments it’s warning in accelerated oscillations, throwing rain through the darkness, but it’s too late now. I’ve come too far.

I throw a rope around the oak. The creatures dwelling inside flee their home. The fear paints their faces with each lightning strike. I tie the rope and jump down from the tree.

It’s time.

I pull with all my might. The rain falls through the canopy. The rope burns my hands until they bleed. The deepest roots that hold the fabric of the universe together start to vibrate and quiver. They Scream, “Why? Why are you doing this?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, but I don’t stop pulling. As I use every single cell in my body to pull, it starts to end.

The world begins to slow in it’s spin. The roots start to tear through the surface of the earth, but they desperately cling to the ground like a child’s hand as she’s being dragged into torture.

The world slows even more…

I know what I’m doing, but I can’t stop. I’m looking for forgiveness as I’m committing the crime.

The wind and rain and lightning all form a harmonious plee in the last second of time until:

Silence.

The world’s stopped spinning.

In shame. In loneliness. I sit upon the centre of the universe. The great tree is nothing more.

Written by Randall Evans

***

Thanks for reading The Vile Mint. If I was able to spark your imagination, make you think or open your mind to new perspectives, please leave me a comment. I love hearing from readers and building relationships. God Bless.