I thought about you this morning.
While the sky turned to blue.
I wondered what you were doing.
And about those things you might do.
And I wondered if you
ever thought about me
in that favorable way.
I watched the sun cover
the trees with a golden haze.
That's how the memories
keep coming.
And how love breaks through.
And how with me not really knowing
I start thinking of you.
But you can become your past
when dancing with every wrong.
Just like the sun we move on.
No fair the well. No sweet goodbye.
We make the best
of what is left of our lives.
Still.
I thought about you this morning.
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 10:30 AM UTC
The house lights burned
yellow
through thin window glass
What remains
of the life we shared.
I wanted to enter.
To remain.
But the night proved
too much
sinking
into my chest.
So I went
without goodbye.
Some acts are unknowingly
cruel
like the moon giving
a sour milk glow
softening
the road that leads away.
And I went on this way.
Looking back
without doing so.
Until morning color
broke
the horizon.
Where I thought things
would be different.
You know.
Not the same.
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 4:39 PM UTC
warm winds dry out spring blooms
while I drink alone under an afternoon sun
if you don't understand this life,
my friend, don't be troubled
I am not as rich as you think
or as poor as I let on
when looking to the heavens,
I too, see blue sky and white clouds
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
The songbird
high in her tree
doesn't know her music
sends me spiraling
through the depths
of my being
until nothing matters
but the faint beat
of an erratic heart
pining to be high
in its own tree
lost in song.
How could she know?
She is only a selfish little songbird
and does not sing for me.
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 10:10 AM UTC
I still dream
of blue mountains rising
from the tail of a long night
And regard the prose
of dead poets
with dark eyes
on the hunt for a new lie.
And still absently hum time-worn melodies
of a silver dollar moon
mirrored in steel black water.
Not there for anyone.
Cool to the coming sun.
Are things so different now
that I am different?
A man of forty watching
strong winds push
unsuspecting rain.
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 9:49 AM UTC