thomas-r-parsons - Hello Poetry

Me in my distance - and you in yours There is nothing in between anymore You drove too far - and never came back I have only my wounds You stare at them - they smell of old rot Embers never remembered I wish it were December

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May 19, 2017

May 19, 2017 at 6:35 PM UTC

I wish it were December

Me in my distance - and you in yours There is nothing in between anymore You drove too far - and never came back I have only my wounds You stare at them - they smell of old rot Embers never remembered I wish it were December

7

Thomas R Parsons Fly Fly - never past devils in big windows, taking bows for a plate of flowers. They will glean your soul from you, as a reaper might - only you're living at the end. Fly beyond wanton desires, past graves that were planted years before this moment. They hold memories, bodies of things best left forgotten. Bodies don't always have a face. Exist in a time that knows nothing of itself. It has no perceptions of seconds, despite its blood is littered with wasted hours. Believe you are sublime. The earth carries you to only the destinations that you own. All is yours, even the cracks in the sidewalks with reeds of grass deeply rooted in them. Cracks don't always mean broken. Losses of life take the light out of the deep within - eviscerated by our grief. Flawless love and always praying for moments - moments that have not our name on them, that are not ours and are not our right to touch. What lies ahead is a road. Forked in many different directions, with vultures circling if you dance down the wrong road. Vultures are ignorant. You choose the road - AND LIVE! My heart. My being. I cry for those who can't. I cradle hope and hopelessness in the same arm, while they scratch and bite at each other. Will one lose? Yes. Time will scream it from the tabloids. Trust no devil! Fly past these devils, they offer bows for flowers, but they're embedded with lies and instant regret. Keep your flowers. Thomas R. Parsons

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Dec 30, 2016

Dec 30, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC

Fly

Thomas R Parsons Fly Fly - never past devils in big windows, taking bows for a plate of flowers. They will glean your soul from you, as a reaper might - only you're living at the end. Fly beyond wanton desires, past graves that were planted years before this moment. They hold memories, bodies of things best left forgotten. Bodies don't always have a face. Exist in a time that knows nothing of itself. It has no perceptions of seconds, despite its blood is littered with wasted hours. Believe you are sublime. The earth carries you to only the destinations that you own. All is yours, even the cracks in the sidewalks with reeds of grass deeply rooted in them. Cracks don't always mean broken. Losses of life take the light out of the deep within - eviscerated by our grief. Flawless love and always praying for moments - moments that have not our name on them, that are not ours and are not our right to touch. What lies ahead is a road. Forked in many different directions, with vultures circling if you dance down the wrong road. Vultures are ignorant. You choose the road - AND LIVE! My heart. My being. I cry for those who can't. I cradle hope and hopelessness in the same arm, while they scratch and bite at each other. Will one lose? Yes. Time will scream it from the tabloids. Trust no devil! Fly past these devils, they offer bows for flowers, but they're embedded with lies and instant regret. Keep your flowers. Thomas R. Parsons

11

I've been robbed. My childhood, my manhood. My self-love. Taken... taken from me without permission. A ten-year old boy with an ancient soul. "Think beyond the physical. Think beyond the physical. It will be over soon. It will be over soon. It always is. It always is..." The mantra of a screaming, hollow little boy. A ten-year old with the vocabulary provided by abuse. You weren't there, and yet... you were, in your later guilt. You cried. "If I had only known!" Ah, but you did know! You were there. You felt the shake of the bed. The quieted, muffled, screams of your child. I wanted the shiny blue bike, but you told him no. I'd earned it, didn't I, Mum? For what I'd done - what I'd done for you. You wanted love, and I wanted you to have it. A son making a sacrifice for Mum. "Oh baby there ain't no mountain high enough, Ain't no valley low enough, Ain't no river wide enough To keep me from getting to you..."

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Sep 11, 2016

Sep 11, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC

The Mantra

I've been robbed. My childhood, my manhood. My self-love. Taken... taken from me without permission. A ten-year old boy with an ancient soul. "Think beyond the physical. Think beyond the physical. It will be over soon. It will be over soon. It always is. It always is..." The mantra of a screaming, hollow little boy. A ten-year old with the vocabulary provided by abuse. You weren't there, and yet... you were, in your later guilt. You cried. "If I had only known!" Ah, but you did know! You were there. You felt the shake of the bed. The quieted, muffled, screams of your child. I wanted the shiny blue bike, but you told him no. I'd earned it, didn't I, Mum? For what I'd done - what I'd done for you. You wanted love, and I wanted you to have it. A son making a sacrifice for Mum. "Oh baby there ain't no mountain high enough, Ain't no valley low enough, Ain't no river wide enough To keep me from getting to you..."

19

I used to believe I was being responsible when being irresponsible, I used to hold hope that time had a life for me that was of brilliance and soft petals, because I'd known a hideous child life. I was wrong. The flow is off. The DJ has not played my song. I am not dealing in fanciful "what if's" any longer. I kept it at bay. The loss. The feeling of it. Its stench. Now, it sits firmly in my gut. Anguishing, as if it too knows its own demise. Separate, but every bit a part of me. Back in the day, I remember I used to love myself, despite the hurt. I wish I knew him, he was a wonderful kid. His hair used to hang down, covering his eyes. Shy, but he had hope. Too bad.

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Aug 30, 2016

Aug 30, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC

Too bad

I used to believe I was being responsible when being irresponsible, I used to hold hope that time had a life for me that was of brilliance and soft petals, because I'd known a hideous child life. I was wrong. The flow is off. The DJ has not played my song. I am not dealing in fanciful "what if's" any longer. I kept it at bay. The loss. The feeling of it. Its stench. Now, it sits firmly in my gut. Anguishing, as if it too knows its own demise. Separate, but every bit a part of me. Back in the day, I remember I used to love myself, despite the hurt. I wish I knew him, he was a wonderful kid. His hair used to hang down, covering his eyes. Shy, but he had hope. Too bad.

17

I had a thought on the long train ride home - the trees opposite me, out the window - passing quickly - but whispering. I thought of my ability to get on the train, to go where I need to go - at any point in time, without being stopped, questioned, detained. I had no bars keeping me from doing what I needed to do at any given moment. I was free. I could walk down the street and do ..... And do what?! I am not free. I work in a job that I work paycheck-to paycheck. I live in an apartment more than half my income. I have no car because I had to surrender it. I could not afford basic transportation costs, so now, the train - my only transport. Health costs dictate much more than most know. I am stuck in a job that the only move I may make is lateral. No pay increase. No increase in respect. No increase in worth. I'd always believed that "free" people had lives full of the love and relationships they needed. I used to believe that they at least had "family." (What is family, again?!) I can save no money for my future, and I am aging. Not yet retirement age, but not enough time to save any numerical amount of monetary fulfillment that would make a difference to an aging man. I am not free to walk down the street, void of judgement for being gay, should anyone "notice." I am not free of my disease. The 80's disease meant to take all those who encountered it. Yet, it is cruel and won't take me. I am not free of the empty space. The space where my family and friends should be, loving me. I guess there really are unlovable people, despite my reaching out, with a wounded, diseased heart. I am not free. I never have been. Are you?

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Jul 6, 2016

Jul 6, 2016 at 10:24 PM UTC

Freedom

I had a thought on the long train ride home - the trees opposite me, out the window - passing quickly - but whispering. I thought of my ability to get on the train, to go where I need to go - at any point in time, without being stopped, questioned, detained. I had no bars keeping me from doing what I needed to do at any given moment. I was free. I could walk down the street and do ..... And do what?! I am not free. I work in a job that I work paycheck-to paycheck. I live in an apartment more than half my income. I have no car because I had to surrender it. I could not afford basic transportation costs, so now, the train - my only transport. Health costs dictate much more than most know. I am stuck in a job that the only move I may make is lateral. No pay increase. No increase in respect. No increase in worth. I'd always believed that "free" people had lives full of the love and relationships they needed. I used to believe that they at least had "family." (What is family, again?!) I can save no money for my future, and I am aging. Not yet retirement age, but not enough time to save any numerical amount of monetary fulfillment that would make a difference to an aging man. I am not free to walk down the street, void of judgement for being gay, should anyone "notice." I am not free of my disease. The 80's disease meant to take all those who encountered it. Yet, it is cruel and won't take me. I am not free of the empty space. The space where my family and friends should be, loving me. I guess there really are unlovable people, despite my reaching out, with a wounded, diseased heart. I am not free. I never have been. Are you?

19

The abolute, Resolute, Binding and torturous, Weight of the World, Sits, Boldly, Between the blades of my back. It mocks and laughs. It does not know on whom it has chosen its ride.

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Nov 6, 2015

Nov 6, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC

It does not know

The abolute, Resolute, Binding and torturous, Weight of the World, Sits, Boldly, Between the blades of my back. It mocks and laughs. It does not know on whom it has chosen its ride.

9

You're gone. Off, on your journey. Into your spirit world. Yes, it's alright to go to Heaven now. I knew one day I would lose you, So I memorized the cut on your right finger. I see that cut, that scar, now, on your finger. As you lay - suit creased, pancake make-up and dead flesh. I once loved you with a heart that knew not how to love. And you abused it. You defiled it. Stomped it. Then your last words to me were "You were the love of my life." Then you wilted, just like the flowers you planted. That amber ring on your other finger that we bought together. It's there. On your dead finger. On my dead heart. Soon to be buried. Remembered by me. Forever. But, only by me.

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Oct 8, 2015

Oct 8, 2015 at 9:04 PM UTC

My Loved One

You're gone. Off, on your journey. Into your spirit world. Yes, it's alright to go to Heaven now. I knew one day I would lose you, So I memorized the cut on your right finger. I see that cut, that scar, now, on your finger. As you lay - suit creased, pancake make-up and dead flesh. I once loved you with a heart that knew not how to love. And you abused it. You defiled it. Stomped it. Then your last words to me were "You were the love of my life." Then you wilted, just like the flowers you planted. That amber ring on your other finger that we bought together. It's there. On your dead finger. On my dead heart. Soon to be buried. Remembered by me. Forever. But, only by me.

22

I am afraid and desperately lost in angst, That I will somehow, someway find the way to lose you. You look at life in a way that a man who has not suffered would. Though, I know you have. With me, and because of me. Listening to Amy Winehouse sing "I love you more than you'll ever know", I realize you won't. You won't know. Ever. Not in the truest of senses. Liquored and beyond depressed, I wonder how much of your heart I occupy. I write. Not in the sense to be compared to any of the greats, of whom I admire more than I love my right to breath free air. Amy says, "I am only flesh and blood." Am I, though? I have blood. I have flesh. But have they met? Do you know either within me? Do you know why my blood flows? For you. Do you know why I've let my flesh to go on? For you, only you. No one else. Not family. Not friends. You were there - during the darkest of times. And you're still here and I don't know why. Please tell me. I don't understand. I thought you would be gone by now. Lost to the madness, as long as you were far from me, Yet, when I wake in the 'morn you are still here. Why? I don't deserve love. I am unworthy of such dedication and convoluted love. Your beauty and your registry is beyond my measure, I have nothing that I know would keep you by my side. My beloved, I haven't the words to define my love for you, And my hatred of Life.

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Oct 8, 2015

Oct 8, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC

I Am Fearful

I am afraid and desperately lost in angst, That I will somehow, someway find the way to lose you. You look at life in a way that a man who has not suffered would. Though, I know you have. With me, and because of me. Listening to Amy Winehouse sing "I love you more than you'll ever know", I realize you won't. You won't know. Ever. Not in the truest of senses. Liquored and beyond depressed, I wonder how much of your heart I occupy. I write. Not in the sense to be compared to any of the greats, of whom I admire more than I love my right to breath free air. Amy says, "I am only flesh and blood." Am I, though? I have blood. I have flesh. But have they met? Do you know either within me? Do you know why my blood flows? For you. Do you know why I've let my flesh to go on? For you, only you. No one else. Not family. Not friends. You were there - during the darkest of times. And you're still here and I don't know why. Please tell me. I don't understand. I thought you would be gone by now. Lost to the madness, as long as you were far from me, Yet, when I wake in the 'morn you are still here. Why? I don't deserve love. I am unworthy of such dedication and convoluted love. Your beauty and your registry is beyond my measure, I have nothing that I know would keep you by my side. My beloved, I haven't the words to define my love for you, And my hatred of Life.

39

I lay, I thought, dying. You lay beside me, not letting me. When I could not form a word, You knew instinctively what I needed. I looked at you through clouded vision, Yet somehow I could see with perfect clarity how much you loved me. You inspired me, to live, despite the diagnosis. I can't say thank you enough. I only hope time gives me enough of itself to allow me to try.

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Oct 6, 2015

Oct 6, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC

Inspiration

I lay, I thought, dying. You lay beside me, not letting me. When I could not form a word, You knew instinctively what I needed. I looked at you through clouded vision, Yet somehow I could see with perfect clarity how much you loved me. You inspired me, to live, despite the diagnosis. I can't say thank you enough. I only hope time gives me enough of itself to allow me to try.

9

The mistake. This technology we now have, we make gut-ripping mistakes with it. Or, at least you do. With your fanciful lies of love and life, to me. Again, the pain of the lies. It never ceases, it takes new shape and gathers steam. Like drinking a fine wine, only to discover, you've poisoned it. Once, only once - I believed in your love, until you smashed me in the face with reason not to. Bruising my face, my ugly, docile face. A burn, that singed my soul. That mistake. Your mistake. That message - you sent it - to me, but... it was not for me. Always I dream what my intuition is trying to sell, always you lie and hide it well. You planted that seed long ago, your first technoligical mistake - I've been an utter fool.

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Sep 20, 2015

Sep 20, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC

Again, once and always

The mistake. This technology we now have, we make gut-ripping mistakes with it. Or, at least you do. With your fanciful lies of love and life, to me. Again, the pain of the lies. It never ceases, it takes new shape and gathers steam. Like drinking a fine wine, only to discover, you've poisoned it. Once, only once - I believed in your love, until you smashed me in the face with reason not to. Bruising my face, my ugly, docile face. A burn, that singed my soul. That mistake. Your mistake. That message - you sent it - to me, but... it was not for me. Always I dream what my intuition is trying to sell, always you lie and hide it well. You planted that seed long ago, your first technoligical mistake - I've been an utter fool.

13