As the sands of time
Slowly slither, silently on
As you try to grab a hold
It siphons through your fingertips
The harder you squeeze
The faster the flow
But when you open your hand
Spread your fingers wide
a small pile settles in the palm

When you hold on
It suffocates suddenly, simply still
But loosen your grip
And life flourishes as you will
Change is the only constant
Always remember the simple truth, that  
people are in your life for three reasons:
For a reason
for a season
or for a lifetime

Each one as important as the other
but none so important that you can't live without
each one just a lesson learnt
So be grateful for each moment well spent
Because after all...
All we ever seem to do is say goodbye

Who is this impostor,
glimpsed with horror
in the department store window?
He apes my movements
but fails to capture
their athleticism,
spring-loaded inside an easy grace.

Ladies and gentlemen, do not be deceived.
Disregard those who think they know me.
This shambling simulacrum
is not me.

Perhaps my Nobel prize
is just a might-have-been,
my endowments only imagined.
But I am who I want me to be.

All aboard for the unguided tour!
Already begun, pre-planned
by an unknown administrator,
its detailed itinerary remains unpublished.
The last stage is, they say, less delightful than the others.
It passes through the poorer districts;
one sees industrial squalor and boarded-up lives.

I can leave the tour at any time.
I am who I want me to be.

Discomfort and dissolution do not belong in my world.
I am not the kind of person to ever be distraught.
So oblivion shall not swallow my love's soul.
Not all at once,
not piece by piece.
Not even a little.
Her identity must not be corrupted.

We are who I want us to be.

Little did I know, that one day,
Oh you, dark stranger would whisk me away,
Away from a world, I once took for granted.
Depriving me of the things that I valued,
Most dearly..Most devoutly...

O, dark stranger!
Why, O why...
Did you inevitably have to make me appreciate,
The fact that life is precious and far too short,
And that I could die tomorrow..?

Just what satisfaction do you get,
In making me cherish,
Every minute that He gives us?
In bereaving me of,
The gift of laughter..that is priceless?

Before you attacked me in the shadows,
I had not a clue that
This life was a treasure chest,
Rich in diamonds and gemstones of all sorts,
Or perhaps that it will be snuffed out and finished.

Unbeknownst to me,
Precisely how vulnerable and elusive,
For the misconduct of a handful of cells,
Could change my life so profoundly,
That happiness plays like a sad note.

Bounded to my bed,
Never shall I forget how you pinned me down.
Shut off in the small world of my own,
Unable to help, to meet or to work with
Break out, be of importance, perform marvels for God almighty.

You ponder how people can rejuvenate,
Or gather close to you.
Sympathy, inspiration, foodstuffs together with prayer,
Refreshing menu from the small yard,
Encompassed by care and attention.

What potency lay within me,
Reserve of power
Just been released just as much as I require,
To acquire in the battle,
Against you, dark stranger.

My grade school
burned down
twice.
Once in the 1930's
then again  in
the 50's.
They rebuilt,
there were two
large black and white
framed photographs
of the school houses
before both fires
hanging in the
main hallway.
At some point in
the reconstruction
someone had decided
on two boys
restrooms.
The one at ground level
was always clean.
There were small white
tiles and fresh blue paint.
It always smelled like
pine cleaner,
never ran out of
papertowels.
There was always
sweet smelling
liquid soap in the
shinny silver dispensers.
There were doors with
shinny silver
locks on the stalls.
It was a timeless
space,
prestine and somehow
preserved.
Free and unscathed
by the ugliness of
the world.
Then there was the other
one.
The basement  restroom
was below ground.
There were windows
with wire cages over them.
Their view allowed
a look at the scabbed knees
of the children
who ran about the
hot black top of
the playground.
There were no doors on
the stalls,
yellow stains beneath
every leaky
urnial.
Smears of rust around the
faucets ,
a coarse hand soap
in the often broken
dispensers.
More fit for prisoners
than students.
It smelled like
piss and was always
cold.
I don't know why
one was always cleaner
than the other.
Maybe it was an
unwritten janitor
law.
Maybe they seen it
as somehow lower
than the other.
I always chose the
basement restroom.
It just seemed more
natural to me,
it made me feel strong,
made it all more real.
Now after so many
hardships I can't help
but look back and
remember.
often while high or drunk.
Then ponder the question.
"Have I always been
meant to live in a dirty,
harsh environment,
even way back then?"

People like to lord their humanity
over those they find
less human,
to those people
that a certain definition of human doesn't fit.
"how can you-
hope to be me."
as if they were the pure form of human...
What they forget
is we are all merely monsters,
gallivanting as civilized
and sometimes

we forget which fork is for the meat
and eating our pasta with the salad fork;

we betray our monster.

But also people forget
that angels are just another form of monster
who forgot to be human.
And if we ever could forget our skins
we could just lean down
and help a fellow monster
find his wings
before we meld back into the sky.

Too long I have been down this road
to turn around again is too exhausting
only  to end up back
where I last turned around
I am not even sure if this is where I stopped before
What is waiting for me at the end of this road?
Another road?
The end?
Who fucking knows
No one even knew what road I was taking
they just shrugged and hid behind their walls
but to go back is pointless
I see a turn around coming up
maybe there is something new around the corner
or have I been here
and just forgot where I turned back before?