the sun flickers upon his hand
and thoughts of the past flicker upon his mind
no time there is for school or band
when sadness, lies, and regrets are behind
freedom from all thoughts is his prayer
but that is not possible for now
he fears this time he can not bare
but he must trust Him somehow?
the pink gloves rest softly on the table
And the sun drifts softly across the heart unstable
They say that love fits like a glove.
But love doesn't fit like a glove.
We fit into dozens of gloves throughout our lives.
We use a new pair every winter,
We cherish them when the cold hits
But when the trees turn back to green
The scarves fall to the floor
We forget about sweaters and warm blankets…
The gloves disappear somewhere in a closet where we can never find one or the other again.
It doesn’t bother us.
We buy a new pair.
Miss the warmth of the previous one,
Maybe miss the familiarity of a pair that fit perfectly for a while but then…
Then we forget.
And it goes on and on.
So love doesn’t fit like a glove.
Love doesn’t fit.
But it is so worth it
he holds a coffee cup in one hand
and a notebook in the other
it has a langston hughes quote on the cover
written in a midnight scrawl
when he paid, he smiled with all his teeth
and he had taken off his dark gloves for long enough
to reveal his calloused fingers
scarred guitar worn fingers
he drinks his coffee black and sits by the window
and Lord, the thought of him breaks me already
I looked to a dead man's eye
I saw the smile of his chapped lips mingle with the burnt cigarettes around his crippled body
I saw the smile of desperation smack my hair and I let the rose fall from the cold felt tips of my gloves
I shuddered when he accepted the rose
I gasped when he spoke the forbidden words
A voice with no moisture, dry, and cracked
He said goodbye to me
and I dropped my cigarette, stepping on it
Killing the flame
I said "Goodbye Dad"
My first gLove
Lost on the bus
Or In the street
Parted in the snow
My stolen gLove
Taken whilst my back
My fleeting gLove
Impaled by a stranger
In the street
On a spike
For all to see
My forgotten gLove
For too long
My worn out gLove
From years of absent
My Christmas gLove
Ill fitting but warm
For a day
My lost summer
Lost summer gLove
Didn’t make the suitcase
My gLove for life
These are the gLoves
I have loved and lost
I walked out
along the river
today and thought
about the time I tried
to make you wear red
gloves with a the christmas
deer on them, I should have
never tried to make you wear
the red gloves with the christmas