When at night,
the wind is calm,
a stillness in the air,
I’m waiting,
and nothing seems to know,
I wait a little longer,
check again,
and the air is still.
I sometimes want
those winds to return,
the kind that shook our soul,
but made us feel alive,
we could know how to smile,
look in each other’s eyes,
only then
could we ever really
hold each other’s hand again.
Oh, getting better every day,
morning ritual
draws a coffee in hand,
early moments spent
aligning blind slats
with the building lines
across the street.
Seems they’ll never really balance,
but I find that amusing
and it passes the day.
Think about meditation
but wonder if in my
alone time that’s already happening.
I mean it is true,
I sit alone and stare for hours,
isn’t that kind of what it’s like
to bore deep in our soul?
I know I need to admit,
I’m trying to find myself,
sometimes with desperation,
waiting for the telephone to ring,
I still call it that,
ages me a bit I suppose,
but maybe that lends to my curiosity,
the desire to understand
how this time of my life,
call it a chapter
contains so much
uncharted territory.
I continue to fight the blues,
will always wonder,
what might have been,
what could me,
all the adages
defining my experience …
alone time.
In the quiet of the night,
while we in arms played,
I could see you,
search inside,
I loved the travel
inside your eyes.
Each moment we together
traveled new avenues
I kept checking,
you kept looking,
we could go on forever,
when you let me inside your eyes.
She asked me that while looking in my eyes
I said I do only to sound sort of wise.
I went back to look and nothing made sense
So badly i wanted to give this love a chance.
~
She told me my stories frightened her,
she thought they classified a pattern.
I wanted only her appeal to a passion,
a heartfelt solution to her indecision.
~
Seems our lives are easily triggered
that noticeable desire deferred
Seems only now can we appreciate
the very love we so quickly negate.
~
I wanted her to know my love is true
Instead we cascaded deep into a blue.
If I could go back to the way it was,
I might wish to remain with today,
so many skeletons,
all the confusion,
and yet in the moment I would
throw it all away.
I wonder about nostalgia,
what it means in our lives
good memories and sad occasions,
we are all caught in a cycle
of testing the waters,
finding a way to avoid
the human drama
of getting by, of confidence,
of understanding the reasons why.
If I could go back to yesterday,
it might be only to figure out a way,
to not lose you,
to speak the truth,
not paint pretty pictures,
only live the moment,
only find you in my arms,
where life truly matters,
the two of us,
in a travel of serendipity
I took a journey today,
chalk full of just memory
reliving a day,
I’d never found a way.
I walked alone,
and cried alone,
I strolled with arrogance
and wept alone.
I never really knew why,
yet I wanted to die.
I am afraid of life alone
well, not as much today,
but going back to that day,
I can’t shake the tremors anymore.
I’m getting old,
I have to say,
so every new moment
seems only steps away,
from saying goodbye to forever.
I wonder what’s ahead
thinking about this day,
I’ve contemplated
forever the reasons
why it had to go down this way.
Whenever I seem satisfied
I begin to question why
I haven’t quite forgotten
still so easily can I cry.
I have a different outlook now
doesn’t mean I forgot this day.
I’m sitting here now,
in the quiet untold
how readily
a sense of anxiety I choose.
Who am I why am I
is it always only true.
Who do I hurt,
why do I hurt,
there’s a constancy
with a mania
outside of the norm.
Always questions remain,
my self confidence
Is it true or a ruse.
I can never be responsible
for knowing,
though I would every corner
concede.
I only wish a peace,
not a lot to ask
given the years of
persecution.
Is that it now,
am I defining myself?
Or perhaps it is a
penchant for precision,
always getting in the way.
In the notes
I’m meant to travel,
so I always try to
hang on,
remember those moments that help secure
a sense of well being,
a confidence
as that seems all of our desire.
What is felt
in the moment of loss
when all of fortune
becomes a confusion,
in a how do we respond
to losing schedule.
Suddenly thrust
into the dramatic nature
of coping,
the fear sets in gradually,
the indecision,
the loss of pattern.
The self took a vacation
while the psyche
stepped back and said
wait, a second, I’m not sure
this can be handled just yet.
Options had taken the day off.
So this is who I am
greatest fears,
indecision
indecisive
in distinct fashion
I crashed and burned.
To imagine,
she might be nearby
if only words can tell me,
I would make them up in my mind
to have you closer to me,
feel your warm affection,
that compassionate soul
I once held in my arms.
I feel these emotions,
saddle me,
I cannot move sometimes,
and then I realize
I’m living, I’m alive,
and she would want that for me.
She is beauty in a special day,
when the stars align at night,
the radiant blue of a sunny day,
she’s all these things,
wrapped into her soul,
a certain elegance
in how she carries her own pain,
once shared with me,
once comforted,
oh did I hold your love with my heart.
It’s when thoughts take me,
somewhere,
anywhere that matters
in the moment.
I can’t really predict how
the concrete bench might feel,
until I sit down, the stone pressed against
my vulnerable body.
I only think about the next thing,
while my body postures
for the sightseers
going about a winter day,
I wonder if they wonder
am I cold,
or brazen.
I think about what is in my head,
and forget about those around me,
except those following me,
watching my moves,
imagining who I am inside,
without ever really knowing,
the thoughts in my head,
that help define who they are in the moment.
I let them take me,
down slippery roads
where I cannot find a grip
until I put myself to bed,
wait for the next day.
Paper and a pen 