what i always was

what i always was

 

 

 

i asked a streetwalker for a light

she took me where the hotel one

was a dim reflection

of whom I had become

 

dirty job, dirty pavement

shoes walking nowhere

weighed down by a life

balanced on some tightrope of involvement

 

strangers pass by the window

the outside is now silent

she and i love for a moment

 

i pay her her sustenance fee

i am sated

until i walk out of the room

 

and my shoes decide

the next direction

my worn-down soles

will shuffle to

as i look for someone

who's a match.

 

 

 

erin-cilberto

4/25/23

Reviews

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

Boom-drop mic, I mean match…because the light was blown away by the wind. A sad tale in b&w. And oh so gritty, perfect metaphor…of course sir Jacob. Haunting write.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you for your kind words, Annette,
j.

[light and ashes]

Ive felt like this....reminds me of Ed Sheeran's first hit, "A Team." I fell in love with the song. I so related to it at the time. Not because I knew what it was like to have to do that, or was practicing that at the time, but it was how I was feeling. In the same kind of way, I can relate to this poem, great job.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for sharing how you related to this piece, Light,
j.

[light and ashes]

You are so very welcome, dear friend.
:)
Always happy to read and review you.

[Vol]

Jacob,
Tricky, tricky... "I asked a streetwalker for a light" to "I look for someone who's a match." and the perfect transition between the two opposites. Excellent!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your words, Vol,
j.

[willweb]

And that dim light was a pale shade of red, no match for someone looking for a light. I have noticed a definite change in your poetry as far as themes and now font size. Makes me wonder what your thoughts were when the darkness became real, if only momentarily. So much in life is chance I think, right place, right time or wrong time. Though many of us look back and regret what we see. I look back and wonder, was it really my fault or was that destined to happen whether I was there or not. hell, and that doesn't even make much sense. Can a butterfly's wings really start a tornado and if they do, did the butterfly do it on purpose? My friend, your poetry has always made me think and is always there. The day it is gone will be the day I have a regret.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

the font somehow got that size, not sure what happened there. I really appreciate your kind words...
j.

[andrew mitchell]

There’s a nomadic feel to this write like a gypsy, no real home just going with the flow or in this case where my shoes take me.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

and perhaps the speaker in this poem is thinking..."walk a mile in my shoes" who knows.
thank you, andrew.
j.

[Laz K.]

This poem is a sort of bohemian manifesto: no strong convictions, goals, or purpose in life, but a spontaneous movement from point A to point B, stopping to smell the occasional rose on the way. Despite appearances, it might actually be how most of us live, whether we realize or not. These lines remind of Waiting for Godot. Two tramps on the road...going nowhere...spending time...waiting...waiting for someone or something to come that would make it all right...but till then...waiting...waiting...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

It is certainly how I live...thank you, Laz for your "spot on" review..
j.

[Coyote Poetry]

Had a feel of a dark Paris story Jacob. I liked the story in the poetry. In my young days. I roamed old Europe. In the nights. The night people come alive and they are so interesting. Thank you for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I bet that was interesting....Europe in the nights...that would be a great title for a poem.
j.

[Coyote Poetry]

New York city is like Europe. The night people are very different from the day folks.

[Patricia Wedel]

Cigarettes are Candles to breathe when Life is no longer worth a Penny tossed in a fountain of Hope. Pat

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Candles that burn at both ends...thank you, Pat,
j.

[Patricia Wedel]

Waxing Poetic… charmed… Pat

[Chris Shaw]

Out of ashes and destruction. I don’t know why but I thought of the bombed buildings sites in London after the war. Reduced to rubble, but still the little pink flower caled London pride broke through to flourish. There was determination in your poem to do better. I saw resilience, I agree with Winston the last two lines aren’t required.

Chris

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Chris and Winston...those last two lines have disappeared. Thanks for the suggestions.read morethank you, Chris and Winston...those last two lines have disappeared. Thanks for the suggestions.
j.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Again, this speaks of a hapless existence, a desperate search for a salvation that is just beyond grasp. I can feel the grit beneath the feet.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Linda Marie,
j.