He sees the reflection in the glass,
not sure what he's looking at,
it resembles his past.

But everything looks hazy,
too grimy to be real,
this reflection is faded.

The glass must be distorting,
this can't be where things are at,
he feels like crying.

This reflection is his own,
the one he does not know,
his heart moans.

He sees his reflection in the glass,
he knows what he's looking at,
a life gone too fast.

The first time,
You say things I don't believe
I tell you that I'll never leave
We just keep up the charade
Hoping that the pain will fade.

The next time,
I say that I've forgiven
You tell me now you're different
We just keep playing this game
Hoping that the sorrow will fade.

The last time,
You say you can't live a lie
I tell you it's time to say goodbye
We just keep walking away
Hoping that the memory will fade.

With his parents gone for the night, on a cold and blustery evening in the middle of December, I was sitting on the living room couch, drinking tea with my longtime friend and I could see the flashing red glow of the Christmas lights on the columns outside the frosty window, coming from the upstairs bedroom, and I'll never be quite sure why, but I suddenly and jokingly exclaimed to him that I was concerned that something was wrong upstairs.  I then jumped up from the couch and followed the flashing red glow up the stairs, but I only made it halfway to my destination when I could go no further.  Choking on smoke and stumbling over words, I mumbled my friend's name what must have been a dozen times before he bolted up the stairs, nearly knocking me over to put out the flashing red glow that from then on would be referred to as "The Christmas Fire.”

A warm and joyous afternoon
in mid-summer.  My father and I
check our fishing line.  Rays of light
glisten off the newly purchased rods.

In the sparkling Starcraft fishing boat,  
the electronic fish-finder flashes with
potential victories.  All the while,
the fish are frolicking, blissfully unaware.

My father, with his lure-decorated hat
and great wisdom, instructs me
on this maiden voyage
on top a massive, shimmering lake.

And all the fish jump
at the chance to be
my first triumph.  We watch
and wait.  Silently.

A warm and joyous afternoon
in mid-summer.  My father and I
check our fishing line.  Rays of light
glisten off the newly purchased rods.

It's getting kind of dark in here,
as I sit and wait for you.

It's been thirteen years,
since I last spoke to you.

It's been thirteen years,
and still I wait for you.

It's drained a lot of tears,
when I've thought of you.

It's drained a lot of tears,
to not think of you.

It's getting kind of dark in here,
and I will continue to wait for you.

Falling fast,
taking time.
Delicately dreaming,
past prophecies.
Feeling fine,
loving life's lies.

Falling fast,
through time.
Trying to tame,
my malicious mind.
Memories mounding,
silently sounding,
alarms and animals,
waking wildly.