I have learned to dwell upon the obviouswanting it to go wrong all at once.
only I can be responsive to my sorrow
as if it were a reward of some kind,
poor... poor... pitiful me...
of all the people on this planet
not one would give a damn and
if they did it would not end there
lord no... they'd expect the same of me.
at the end of a long corridor
a lone table is placed,
behind it a figure sits
clothed in a dark robe,
light shines in over its shoulders
from some unseen source,
dismal eyes peer out from
under a hooded head
nodding in my direction,
beckoning me to move closer,
offering me a chalice form
which its contents must be shared,
a tribute to some immortal power,
an everlasting soul of souls;
I am carried away on wings of words
spoken on my behalf long ago,
waiting in this isolated chamber
for my arrival and I look to see
my name of the list of survivors.
if and when I dream again
more certain will it be,
no rain or ice nor sleet or snow
will enter in this time...
the woman who I chose to
share these nocturnal visits with
well... must want to be there too
and never will I dream one thought
if there is an inkling going
around that it may not be true.
momma... I hurt so bad
please make the pain go away,
please hold me momma...
I've been so bad today,
it tears me up inside to see
you so far away, so distant from me,
if I could change my life I would,
I'd live it like you wanted me to,
I swear... please momma...
no more pain...
I'm sorry momma... I really am,
I tried... I really did... it's just
so hard to be good...
please come back to me momma,
I hurt so bad...
hold me tight momma and
make all this pain go away.
for each other to share the love
of our endurance and patience;
someday we will have in our hearts
the love we put on paper...
a love we thought would be ours
automatically for sure...
someday we will have the caring
that was always given elsewhere
while our own precious feelings
were maturing all alone...
someday we will be there for
each other even if it is just
to say our final goodbyes.
at the end of a soccer field I sit
eating my lunch in silent isolation,
around me is a forest of thoughts
and memories encircling the
platter of life I hold in my hands,
a chilly wind blows on my right
a noon day sun heats my left and
sunglasses keep me from squinting
out some of my feelings... my
world appears to be balanced
at least temporarily on the edge
of some trident... a wrong move
could prove fatal and I wonder in
whose direction will I be pulled,
a canopy of blue overhead keeps
out the rain and my mental
sojourn is filled with all sorts of
relatively mild peaceful apprehensions.
days away from you are incomplete,
filled with questions I should have asked
and answers I should have given,
work becomes a habit to which we all belong
and I wish I could pick with whom...
I give myself this thought to brighten my day.
if the mystique around wishing well were true
I have no doubts I would wish for you...
If thoughts were really worth a penny,
I would build you a castle of feelings...
If the years of our life were written on a blackboard
I would erase all the errors we have made...
If life begins after forty, then I would
never live another day without you.
who would offer a little consolation,
the tears that have dried inside and on the face
of my cheek sting the nerves like acid rain,
I have dried to myself often as I recall the
mistakes that now complicate the corner
of the world in which I am living,
the mind whispers it absolution and I
spend time looking the other way,
the stones of my fortress crumbles
my soul trapped inside the particles of dust
and all that is left is the smell of burning flesh.
as the anger is expressed
its effects are felt on a
multitude of planes and
the holes we dig for ourselves
grow deeper and deeper,
comments that once were
made positive are now
deemed negative and the
bitterness increases the loss
of self-esteem we all feel.
lovers in the evening pour out from my imagination
women whose unknown appearance can be described
by a name called out in my sleep... and to my wife
I must explain why her name was not the same,
lovers in my sleep whose bodies are so close to me,
wrapped around and held close by the arms of dream,
I surrender how for when this unconscious time is done
I may not recognize you... but, will always remember
your presence that I experienced the night before.
it was too easy
her sitting there
silent...
listening to me
quietly explaining
what I knew,
in her youth
I saw myself
and I wanted
my parents
across from me
instead of her,
those beautiful eyes
looked older... wiser,
more experienced
next to her
deeper voice... a
graceful manner was
apparent as she sat
with a good posture
we had taught her,
and yet, something
was different and I
felt the truth would
only be shared
with someone else.
live a response that only
lovers share... taking their
rightful places in a closet
of out-of-style clothes.
from outside my imagination I
wonder when my thoughts will end,
when the eyes inside my mind will
not see... when the ideas will dry
up and not be there for me to
rearrange and if my feelings
cannot be expressed... then my
life would never be the same again.
each year bring her one year closer and
me one less promise left to be broken,
fragile as a vase on a counter top and
age is measured by the brittle hair that
is way too white to be dyed anymore.
the night passes slowly
into day...
minutes drag into hours
sleep hides between the hands
of an electric clock and the
luminescent dial of a pocket watch
on the night stand...
a pendulum swings back and forth
inside the mental aberrations
of the day...
time pauses and in so doing
cause me not to
escape my thoughts.
the world shuts out her children
pretending not to hear their pleas for help,
ignoring a sorrow inherited by each
generation and those to come,
the week will continue to provide
strength so that the strong can survive in a
manner to which they are accustomed.
united in our thoughts
we used to be...
acceptance of our love
came not easy...
yet, we overcame
our disloyalties,
individual strength
sharpened the instincts,
our love was offered
in more subtle ways...
we drifted away
aimlessly...
on our own voyage
and like Ulysses we
were searching for
a route home.
we sit in distant corners
of an imagination,
out of reach...
melancholy sounds
of a flute are heard
from somewhere
out of sight...
we look into each other's
direction, feeling a
little bit out of touch.
we are solitary substitutes
duplicating and exchanging
the mix of formulas that
compromise our complicated
personalities... our behavior
may or may not be appropriate
give the circumstance...
the delicate balance that must
be maintained unravels...
we learn to survive the consequences
our decisions have created.
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