Energy (WIP)

It has been latent, hiding inside
Focusing to a point
no barrier can withstand
You can hear the crackle
in the air
at this sound
the world
s t o p s
to listen
It releases
crushes
and penetrates
The feeble foes in our minds
Yet is still
trapped

Writers block
sleepless nights
Fall to the power
that flows through
It bends and twists
reality into something
New that screams
set me free
We scribble
draw
map
and wait
For that something
in our mind
To be created into
something extraordinary
Yet the pen sits still
Unable to escape

Energy
destroy
transfer
From one
to another

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Subconscious

Through a low trellis I trip
into a dark and dank grotto.
Did you hear that?
Sounded to me like some
kind of footsteps,
misshapen and clawed.

How can he live here?
Jesus it is like I stepped
into Cro-Magnon society,
chicken bones thrown
haphazardly upon the ground,
a muddy pool of some
undisclosed liquid, looking
quite a bit like a wash basin,
and that smell...I'd rather
not know what that smell is.

I heard it again,
maybe it is just roots
cracking the outer crust
of this place.
Why am I here?

The incessant drips
dropping like bullets
into my brain,
why won't it stop
and where are those
footsteps coming from?

I know, I'll hide and ambush
the mischevious minion.
At least then I can put a face
to those footsteps.

In a moment,
I'll see,
you'll see.
Do you think
it can
hear my heart
beating out of
my chest?
Just in case let me
grab this rock for
protection...

What am I saying
I don't even know what the
hell this thing is,
human or otherwise.

Again with that DAMN DRIPPING!!
My mind surges with
annoyance, concentrate,
concentrate, count to ten,
listen for the clickety clack
of this bag of bones bitch
that is following you,
breathe, in, out,
breathe.

There it is again...
much closer and cautious
this time, come on...
little closer,
I can't quite see around the corner...
just a few more seconds.

In my haste I had forgotten that
the roofline of my hiding space
was about four inches smaller
than I am tall.
The blinding pain,
then stars,
then blackness.

Awakened by my own breathing
I realized that my head is supported,
I am covered with blankets,
and it smells lightly of lavender.

Think that's the last time I'll step
into my subconscious.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Darkest Days

When the blazing sun
shines no more upon
the plains of dust
and dreary memories

That is when you will
find me wandering,
for I am a traveler
of the darkest kind

I prey on human fear,
torment, and nightmares.
I feed upon emotions,
and I fill my chalice 
with yours.

I know no age,
time does not mar
my visage. 
I am eternal,
haunting you.

In your final hour,
on your darkest day,
I rest in the shadows
devouring your mind.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Sobriety at the bottom of the bottle

Clouds gather around my headdress,
as I dance to the rhythm of an unheard drummer.
Mixing a funky hip-hop tang
with the back beats of Beethoven.

I am drowning in my laughter,
choking on smiles while drifting
into the abyss of happiness.
Chuckling as I swirl down the drain.

Beating rhythm into ears deafened by the sound
of the trampling hooves let loose by the hordes
of swallowed souls in this city.
I repent my religion, forsake my forefathers, and
break the benediction of the blessed sacrament.

Withering in the sunlight, I crumble
into large brown bricks of clay.
Is this the way we die?
Am I dead already,
just refusing to realize?

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Green leaves and big trees

twenty-two steps, with harness in hand, straight up a ladder
latching onto a literal life line with white knuckled nervous laughter
leaving my feet to fly with flocks of multi-colored birds on the zip-line.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved