"Hey, Aaron,
are you okay?"

                                                         ­                                              "I'm fine.
                                                           ­                                                Why?"

"I've been thinking,
and it occurred to me
that what most
suffering people
don't understand,
is that when they are asked
'Are you okay?'
that is someone trying to help."

                                                         ­                                         "What most
                                                            ­                        un-suffering people
                                                          ­                              don't understand,
                                                     ­                                                     Terry,
                                                        ­                                           is that most
                                                            ­                 suffering people cannot
                                                          ­                    convince themselves to
                                                              ­                                    ask for help
                                                            ­                        or let anyone know.
                                                           ­                    They only know to say
                                                             ­                                          'I'm fine.'
                                                          ­                                                          ...
   ­                                                                 ­                                          It is a
                                                                ­                 terribly private thing,
                                                                ­                                     suffering."

"Un-suffering people
can't understand, really.
What it is like, I mean.
What is needed,
what should be done.
I think that is the problem.
Or one problem.
They don't know how
to help,
or ask if they even can."

                                                          ­                            "That does present
                                                         ­                                              an issue."

"And the suffering
don't talk about it,
and so most un-suffering
don't even know."

                                                         ­                                           "You're not
                                                             ­                                            wrong."

"Aaron, I'm going
out on a limb,
and I'll come out and ask it."

                                                           ­                                                      "..."

"Is there a way I can help you?"

                                                          ­                                                         "...
                                                            ­                                 ...I don't know.
                                                           ­                            I don't know if it's
                                                            ­                                   even possible
                                                        ­                                 to help me now."

"There has to be a way.
Nothing is irredeemable,
not even the most
twisted of souls."

                                                        ­                                                  "I don't
                                                           ­                                  entirely agree."

"You wouldn't.
You are one who
believes he's irredeemable.
I can't believe that, Aaron.
Or what was the point
of saving your life?"

                                                         ­                            "There wasn't one."

"Are you saying that
I risked myself
for nothing?
My efforts
were pointless?
Is that what you're saying,
Aaron?"

                                                ­                                          "Well, no, but—"

"Aaron.
I refuse to believe
that you are beyond healing.
If I believed that...
Let's just say
it wouldn't be pretty
and I'd be nearly as miserable
as you are during your bad days."

                                                         ­                                                        "..."

"Do you understand me?"

                                                           ­                                                "...yes."

"Good.
I'm not giving up on you,
no matter how much you
try and make me.
In return,
you better not give up on me."

                                                           ­                                             "I won't.
                                                          ­                                       I'll try not to
                                                              ­                          give up on myself
                                                          ­                                                  either.
       ­                                                                 ­          There's always hope,
                                                           ­                                                right?"

"There you go.
You're starting to get it."

                                                           ­                                             "Terry..."

"Yes?"

­                                                                 ­                                     "Thanks."

"...
No problem."

h.f.m.

society takes Icarus
and warns you not to fly too high.
cut your losses, accept your lot.
warns us all—
stick out your neck and you'll lose your head.

"sever yourself from empathy
and cauterize the wound.
you can't help anyway,
so why should you care?"
right, society?
that's what you mean?

"if you fall from the top of the ladder
you won't get off the ground again.
midway is safer,
and the landing is softer.
your ambition is misplaced."

because of society
should i be content with mediocrity?

(i think not)

h.f.m.

There was a little girl
six years ago
who braided her sisters' hair
with dandelions and lilies
and other pretty things.

She sang a little rhyme
as her fingers danced
and her little sisters, sitting
were wholly entranced.

There was a little girl
five years ago
who played piano with finesse
and took lessons with her sisters
so they could play together.

She sang a little rhyme
as her fingers danced
and her little sisters, sitting
were wholly entranced.

There was a little girl
four years ago
who stitched her sisters' teddies
with blue and yellow thread
when they tore during play.

She sang a little rhyme
as her fingers danced
and her little sisters, sitting
were wholly entranced.

There was a little girl
three years ago
who taught sisters how to turn
shadows into puppets
to keep fear of dark at bay.

She sang a little rhyme
as her fingers danced
and her little sisters, sitting
were wholly entranced.

There was a little girl
two years ago
who plucked guitar strings
as opposed to her sisters' piano
and her brother's violin.

She hummed a little rhyme
as her fingers danced
and she stayed behind
while her siblings advanced.

There was a little girl
one year ago
who looked at her dancing fingers
and wondered why they couldn't hold on
to the quick-slipping time.

h.f.m.

old man I see you
blue suit and bow tie
and hat placed neatly aside
cradling your coffee
an absentminded gaze
through the tall windows
and beyond
to the young passersby
in a hurry
as you once were
busily home to love
to soothe the withering day
love that you once had
but has passed
old man I see you
your eyes a fluid blue
still
wistful
locked in memory
bittersweet
vivid
that plays before you
to touch
taste
breathe
a pas de deux of passion
eclipsed by time
old man I see you
and you are not alone

Blood of Cain,
but I wish I could claim
Abel as my forefather.
How could I trace
this dubious liniage
that far, you ask?
All the evidence
is in my genetics.
Though the blood on my hands
doesn't belong to anyone else.

Blood of Cain
or blood of Abel
it doesn't change the fact
that I'm of the line
that tasted the forbidden fruit.
It's idiotic, really
that it is portrayed as an apple,
since it was never classified as so in the text.
But that's beside the point,
I'm being pedantic
to avoid the bitter truth
that I'd rather not face.
I come from a family of sinners.
Maybe I'm doomed to the same fate.

h.f.m.