One Year Later

Oliver Amatist
Jul 20, 2017 · 2 min read

There is a flicker.

No light exists in this small facet of Earth.

A cultivated vision sparks on his mini projector screen.

Silence. No screams.

Just a flicker.

He is curled into his imagination.

Light switches refuse to lift.

Lucid.

He is a kid.

The great lie detector echoes through sunny day recess.

Laughter possess him.

He grins.

Walking slowly to his friend.

His vision bends in the direction of a failing heart.

Cardiac arrest stops and starts.

Recess beats have a rhythm of heart.

Feet refrain from a simple street kick.

Dodgeball has no tick.

Clocks have no wick.

He stands there with no brail to read,

“Hey kid! You’re in a dream.”

But his friend.

He twitches.

Coughs.

Breathes air we’ve never known as lost.

His friend, well, his friend is Brendan.

White hair.

The ghost he is.

The great lie detector surges through this kid.

Standing strong he lifts the temperature.

Breeze rolls in.

Blanket tucked.

Brendan blows a requiem kiss.

Skipping away into the reflection of dimethyltryptamine.

Brendan finds heaven.

And he is laughing.

Matthew’s flicker settles and slows quicker than his breathing.

Air is flooding.

Dogs were running.

Cars were racing.

Concerts flaming.

Voices sustaining from saying.

Good morning.

Matthew’s eyes open.

Salt slides out.

Liquid thoughts drop on weather patterns.

Sunrise is blocked by shadows of his hair.

White.

Blank stare.

Matthew arrives at school and it’s time for the classroom prayer.

Many yawns synchronize with his sigh as he tries to believe

The salt water in his eyes will make the candle light die

Bringing him back to the flicker in his eye.

)

Oliver Amatist

Written by

Spoken Word, Pastel and Piano Artist in Seattle Washington. Instagram: Oliver Amatist Youtube: Oliver Amatist

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade