where once it did not,
eyes dimmer than before
sharing their glimmer;
delivered when she was young
her poor sight used for reading
was the only image she could see;
now, worn regularly, her glasses
hold her face, protecting it
against the winds of change.
in order to prosper
in the wake of turmoil
one must give up
individual ownership.
an older man is what I am
to one of twenty-four,
my eyes don't see what
is left to want and my
ears don't hear your pain,
my hands write down the
words of love that meant
so much to me before,
I see my faith, a question mark,
tolerating my point of view,
my heart has never known the truth
my sadness hides life's scars,
all my friends are not so close
they see a masquerade and I
still wonder on rainy days
exactly who I have become,
an older man is what I am
the rest is left up to you.
her heart has changed
hands so many times,
she hardly knows to
whom her life belongs.
today, I called a friend
it was long overdue,
with all the things that
could go wrong, she said
"what's up with you?"
I listened to the same old stuff
nothing's changed since last we talked,
she spends her time reciting woes
there nothing left that's good,
I wondered why I call at all,
next time I'll save my dime.
her nights are filled with hate,
for when she love the one she's with
it leaves her rather incomplete.
her beauty leaves me wanting more
her eyes call out my name,
I want her body close to mine
while imagining the same and
red I turn from head to toe as she
looks into my eyes... I know she
sees my feelings inside my head
but leaves them there to die.
the world seems so
small during the day
and so large at night
that it leaves me
without imagination.
words divide our spirit baffling
the context in which we live,
a layer of mistrust covers us
like the morning dew and we
say good night in back-to-back
fashion, hoping the touch
occurs after we're asleep.
my thoughts are filled
with the nonsense as the
lines across my face
appear on this paper...
talent abounds in others
as I struggle for that which
cannot readily be seen.
favorably to those who
drank her waters and were
parched by a relentless sun,
she gave up her children
only to the desert while
others pursued her destruction,
the years respond without
hesitation for all those who
had come to know her well.
a world of shit
awaits you here
for those who
won't conform,
so toe-to-heel
and grab your
piece as the dove
is finally on the run.
her memory straddles the times
both bad and good that we enjoyed
and hated as I wonder how peculiar;
yet, typical our love had become,
we visited our loneliness on the
weekends, neglecting all else until
we could realize our differences.
the doorman give information
returning the favor of his appointment
as he blends scope into his profession
making more than the usual friends.
she glances away from him
hoping to draw them closer,
but his interests are directed
towards being misunderstood.
our reply... to bill back our time?
in whose name do we charge
our expenses of life's lessons?
within the glass room
more than six centuries
gather their wisdom...
an aged dignity patiently
awaiting the obvious...
from all walks of life
they congregate to share
a common denominator.
if one does not
want to know
then one should
not ask the question
to which they
already know.
along the side it comes
dull and subtle
just behind the ears,
the eyes feel its
burning warmth...
a craziness exists
an absolute pain like
a slow torture making
its way down the spine.
yesterday's memories bun
like fire as events are recalled
from within a lucid mind
and I scream out silently...
my apologies to all of those
who I have finally remembered.
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