Based in New Jersey, This is a blog run by writer Anthony Capala. Anthony has more than a decade of experience as a poet, actor, screenwriter, and filmmaker

My Abstract

You are not my sun,

Quiet intensity,

Warmth and glow in constant,

No, you are not my sun.

You’re not my green, nor gold,

Stretches of color and reflections of light

Keeping us honest and curious,

No, you are not my green nor gold.

You are not the seas,

My soft sands or my salt air.

You are not my green light

Nor this lonesome dock.


You’re not my vacant throne,

My pennants, my pyres

You are not my favorite thorn,

You are not my wilted rose.

These things are tethered to me,

My body in familiar state,

My point of contact,

My frame of reference.


Be not the sun,

Her eyes will one day close,

Bid us goodnight dear,

I’d say you served us all well.

Be not my green nor gold

Something so common,

Something so easily put,

Be not green nor gold.

You’re nothing so fragile,

Nor expected

I don’t need another light,

This dock is already so bright.

You’re particles racing though deep space,

Colliding against shadows and cyclones in the distance

You’re time, endless and nameless,

Breathless and unquestioned.

I need not green,

I need not gold,

I already have my maze of thorns

I clearly know my wilted rose.


Be long off stars

Some light years beyond

Be my vacant,

Be my abstract.

Be the place I’ll go when I die,

Somewhere words hold no weight,

Ghostly apparitions, Grey, unbinded,

In faint sparks of twilight.


Be something shocking and new

A challenge I’ll never quite conquer,

Keep me sleepy love,

Keep me dreaming.


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