Stefan Sidelnick

 

Stefan Sidelnick is a current English student, nascent writer and life long poet. His works deal with scenes of the human struggle for truth, social criticism, and questions of morality. He writes to share his thoughts and perspectives with people and to calm his own conscience.  You can visit his newest blog, The Naked Empire, for more poems and material.

 

The Wailing

There’s a wailing

it blows out of a small 

hilly,

Eastern Town

 

Can you 

hear it?

 

It’s faint...

far from the edges of

your sanity

perhaps

over the deep

end...

 

Well I can hear it

I hear it clear 

as day.

It plays on my ear-drums

 

Banging

Rapturously.

 

You might think 

it’s faint...

but it shreds me up

inside

because I hear it so 

vociferously.

 

It’s small things

like:

A father complaining over

forgotten CD cases

or a daughter 

shunning stiff belligerence.

A CD fits

in many places.

 

The cries spill out of

longing hearts

dripping through

hallways.

Bleeding for ignorant souls

who know not how

to love.

Or even what it means.

 

The sound grows louder on the streets

in turning lanes 

where mistakes are made

and expletives fly

from white

hairy lips.

Lingering shame

an angry finger tip.

 

Or how about 

a careless shoulder

into the breast

of a sauntering

passerby.

Rudely it intrudes

dignity left bruised

and no one 

to apologize.  

 

Really no one seems

to notice

or at least acknowledge 

The Wails

that pervade this air.

No one wants to hear it

or they just can’t feel it.

 

Mistake the crying

for a siren.

Walk on by

ignore the sighing.

 

I still hear it

I’ve always heard the wailing

since the womb

and it’s in every town

every city

continent 

country.

You go to all those places 

you'll hear it there too.

What kills me most

is no one else can recognize it

they lie to me

they call me fool

But I hear the wailing

and it can't be soothed...

 

---

 

By The Way

I left a note

on your crooked table

in the kitchen.

 

I left it there

so in the morning 

you could read it 

while you were gnawing on your honey flavored oats.

I left it there

just for you

between the two of us.

 

I wrote about how

there is too much beauty.

I wrote about how 

life imitates art

how it's all so disconcerting

and all so nice

at once. 

 

I wrote about the time

you and I were together

and all the fun we used to have

and I when I did

I felt sort of sad.

 

And before I forget,

by the way,

I mentioned something else

on it's final page

about how I am leaving

and never coming back

I may have said something like:

"Take care now, bye bye.

I know your little secrets now

and I know why

you lied."

 

But I'll return

before too long

you know I always do

I can't keep hating you.

Next morning

you'll be eating out the same bowl

and I'll step through your door

(if it is not already locked)

and sit next to you.

Like I never wrote that note,

like I just brought in the mail

and you'll shrug your shoulders

or roll your eyes,

surprise.

 

So in retrospection 

just throw that note out,

burn it,

or lock it away.

No use reading

what a young man has to say.

...by the way.

 

---

 

Walls Are For Breaking

Staring for a long time at a blank wall. 

Makes a man wonder. 

What's on the other side? 

 

Some people decorate their walls

fill them with silly things

but they fall

and break.

The pictures crack,

the frames buckle,

and other people

keep redecorating,

and decking their walls

with stupidity.

Ugly paintings

of depravity,

despair.

an empty rocking chair.

Creepy knick-knacks

makes a man sick.

 

But...

that long intangible stare

never quite pierces your threshold. 

That glare just lingers there

festering...

like your silly wreaths

crosses, stuffed angels,

the continual peer

replaces those things.

Madness clumps in heaps.

 

So...

when a man realizes

his whole existence

is really

just like everyone elses...

I'll admit...

makes him sick.

Drives him mad

it does.

So he can't take it.

 

He must know the other side

must pierce the wall...

Crash!

 

The other side must be real sweet

cause I know not a soul

that's returned...

An insanity learned

from patient anticipation

but patience falls

to it's knees 

at thoughtful aberration.

 

This is merely the way of the cosmos.

For

all walls are bound

to be knocked down.

---

 

Impostors

I thought I saw you

out past the breakers

dancing in the waves.

 

Remember two years ago?

It was right before fall.

I thought you were someone else

but I held my tongue. 

 

In time I saw my error

and my heart began to ache.

I thought you were something else

'twixt the Earth and space.

 

As you were dancing

with the ebb and flow

I found myself lost.

 

When we were husband and wife,

or at least pretended,

we'd cry or call out "honey!"

but this was short bliss

soon those sweet words

tasted like piss.

 

The months flew out the window

along with the my TV.

Soon we were fresh out of love

and I was set free.

 

Thought I knew you

back then in my youth.

Today I realize...

opinions 

from truth.  

 

And I meander about

thinking little of time.

Perhaps by mere circumstance

I walked by your shoreline.

 

I thought I saw you

out past the breakers,

dancing with the waves.

Then I looked again

and you were just a crane.

 

---

 

Upon Deaf Ears

There isn't much

I can say to those

who would spurn me

leave me 

alone.

As if all my words

fell upon deaf ears.

 

There are no words

and those that remain

are hardly worth

my concerted efforts

to express

won't waste precious breath

So I keep it suppressed.

 

I put love there

for those to find

laid the truth out

you'd have to be blind

I tell them what I feel

and am compensated

with cold repeal, 

but how am I

to keep this flame concealed?

 

I wonder why

sometimes I try

so hard to tell the world

of my woes and my joys.

Their resilient shields

deflect my cares

as arrows to steel

Still I wonder...

 

I don't know why

I love and dislike 

people so much 

sometimes.

I just know 

It's not my fault.