October 22, 2013

He liked bubbles.
I remember that well.
They made him happy,
something about them being round.
Something about how a circle
represents perfection.
He used to say
that the world could be perfect,
if only we’d stop looking for flaws.
He used to say
that our perception defined our abilities;
that impossible was a boundary we created
for ourselves.
He felt that love was the answer
to all of the important questions
but that the world only cared
about the petty ones.
He felt that God was the reason
for most of the hate
and most of the hope
in most of the world.
In his early days,
the world didn’t know the truth about him
but eventually, that truth died
when he drew on the lies
and pasted on a smile
that didn’t reach his eyes.
I saw him painting in the dark one night
with only shades of grey.
I asked him what it was
and he said, heaven
and when he let himself bleed dry,
I prayed that’s not where he would go.
He liked bubbles.
I remember that well.


2 Responses to “Bubbles”

  1. Avi Says:

    I like bubbles
    I see bubbles
    I forget problems

  2. Hi Karl. Long time no see. Hope you are doing well and keeping poetry alive somewhere. I really love this poem, especially the idea of heaven being painted in shades of gray…

    You’re always had a special way with words.

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