A Poem: "Here"

Here
By Jenna Reimer

Time is a soft sigh.
It is a quiet spoken breath,
Echoing than disappearing
With its resonance;
A hushed sigh - a silent silhouette.
It is a light dust that skims an undiscovered text
That embraces a powerful poem.
The Endless verses of written words
Suck the marrow from all that seems concrete.
The poet's voice becomes lost
Amongst a furry of illegible drafts
Where words shift and dance
Across infinite pages.
Pages that drift atop the breath
Of seamless, hollow sighs;
Sighs that die with every inhale
And exhale.

A Poem: "Small-voiced"

Small-voiced
By Jenna Reimer

I live in a sliver of Time
Where no Hell frightens me,
Where a glorious fire ignites
Outside my window
And hisses an insufferable cry
Making everything red:
My skin is rose-red,
The silhouette on the floor,
The raining ashes
And my pale hands are red,
Gripping the window sill-
Its cracked wood gripping
Specks of fire.

I am uncertain not fearful,
But uncertainty may be
My only emotion.

In Laughter

While the two men were laughing violently
I realized I am becoming apart of them,
apart of their laughter,
with every inhale and short gasps.
Their breath disappears into dark caverns,
smoke incrusted throats,
bruised lungs and forsaken hearts;
our breath allied into this band of essence.

We were together within a world of thought.
Thoughts of existing,
beings afraid of existing.
But I must ascend from this nothingness
to which we all aspire to.
The loathing, the repulsion of being-
there are so many ways to thrust myself
into this odd existence.

Such drifts are born within me often.
The faintness of such absurd reassurance
to which I always yield to
locks me into such a trance that I can no longer bear;
it fills me completely and renewing my survival.
I center my attention with careful delicacy
to become this very end.