Nicholas Vargo

This past week I wrote a little poem I wanted to share. Trying to keep up with the blog so I can share more of my work and feel accomplished in creation of something. Before I started writing, I saw a video saying how the art of creation is a miracle in itself. So every time you create something like a painting or a poem, no matter how objectively you view your own work, you’ve accomplished a miracle. And that is no small feat. Anyway I hope you enjoy the poem 🙂

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Nothing Left of Me

By: Nicholas Vargo

Lately, I’m starting to feel myself being pulled backwards

Each step forward I take, makes the force stronger and stronger.

As I take a glance back at what is pulling me, I recognize bits and pieces.

Threads of my skin, my memories, my tears, all strung together

Like handkerchiefs of many colors tied together,

Making one long, trail of rainbow

But this one has an end, 

And it ends right in me.

———

I must have gotten caught up on something, I think to myself.

I lost more and more of myself, Ripped off my skin, 

Like an unraveled mummy, rising from the dead

And with each step away from the catch.

Another handkerchief was added to the banner.

And so I continued on, without noticing what I kept losing,

My adulthood, my innocence, my smile, my laughter.

———

Each piece is a different color, and sways in the chill of the wind.

The detailed memory etched into each one.

My eye catches one handkerchief, my first big birthday party printed onto green cloth

With crumbs of cake stuck to my face as I lift my head from the smashed cake.

———

Then there is also my first heartbreak, probably the longest single handkerchief

The crimson fabric has rips and tatters in the middle of it

Begging for someone to come along

And rip the chain apart all together.

———

The trail passed through busy roads,

Where it gets run over every time the light changes.

It slithers through my old apartment, then my college campus

Sewing in and out of every classroom I stepped foot in.

———

I’ve unraveled myself more and more

Until there is nothing left of me.

———

I make my way backwards, hoarding the collection of handkerchiefs in my pocket

Don’t ask me how they fit, ask a scientist, or a magician

The fragments of cloth are rough against my skin,

As I pick more and more of them up off the ground.

———

Once I approach the end of the trail,

Or beginning of it depending on how you view it

It all starts to become hazy

And fog starts to cover my vision.

———

I can’t pick out what is on the handkerchiefs anymore,

But with each I pick up a sweep of sadness comes over me.

This is how I know I’m getting closer

As more and more tears start to swell up in my eyes.

———

As I reach down to grab the next piece, my hand drifts through the air.

The end of the trail now rests in my right hand, and my heart aches

What have I become at the end of this adventure,

But a shell of nothing with my whole life in my pocket.

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