Never have i felt so alone.

All my friends have left
Fault of my own im sure,
For i never made the effort.
"Too busy, too tired" i said.
At first I blamed anxiety
But let's be honest,
I was just too lazy.

No family to be seen.
Packed their bags,
And off they went.
Still we talk in text, alas
no hugs through a screen.

Despite all this I was happy,
All this seemed as nothing.
As my girlfriend was my all
Best friend and family as one,
What more could i ask for?

Now we are no more.

Never have I felt so alone.

The bad belongs to the good

sadness is to joy alloyed

life is perpetual flux indeed

what's built can be destroyed

Was it Witchcraft?
  Magic?
We weren't sure.
  We were just children.
    But we were witness to a manipulation of all things that abound.  There was influences on objects of nature.  Emanations of psychic force.
     Like on cold nights where an ethereal spirit box would quietly hum as it breathed warm air into our play room. (turned out to be a heater).
   Or where magically an upright coffin full of tasty morsels stood at the ready for hungry tummies. (Later we recognized it as a refrigerator).
   Where mysteriously cold water turned hot, spilling from an orifice  into a cauldron where upon us kids were placed like happy little guppies. (this we later knew as a bathtub).
   Was it super natural powers,
magic,
sorcery?
  Back then it was.
Because me and sister were just little kids.
And the SHE in control of all these magical powers?
  She was our mother.
      
             Happy  Mother's  Day

Imagine we are home
and not lonely, imagine
our love which once cut
through strange waters
like longboats through hearts
not slow and heavy
from the moss of fear
we are here and not here
nights in our land are sad
the risings of the moon
are like sores we have given
our women, and we cannot sleep
for what we dream
the enemy will do, like filling
our children's throats with rocks
and place them in shallow swamps
where they will rise up
to tell us of fish with odd shapes
and men with torches
coming in from the sea
up to the beach on a black night
throwing open the gates
to our dying city.

if only I could
curl
up like the armadillo
when i'm sleeping

there would be no soft underside
to be pierced by my nightmares

and maybe I would wake
without
pain

if I could forget again
all the things
that I have remembered
and all the things
that I have not remembered

maybe there would be
no nightmares
in the first place