Lonely men are lonely.
So modern are the faces of loneliness today.
We can live the big lie, wish for death, drink wine, and still love someone.
And deep down, the hole never closes, the wound never heals,
and all we are is sand slipping through our fingers.

do not frame it gently, unless your act truly is kind
be cruel if need be, tear and gnaw
but do not ease me, do not sedate me
if you're cleaning our garden
pluck and **** each flower slow
and remember each and every word
let them forever live on the tip of your tongue

I love how you say my name
Now nothing else will do
I'd prefer to remain nameless
Than hear it from any other than you

the sun in my eyes
sometimes it's a welcome pain
we are awaken

Will you miss me
when I'm gone?

Or will you find me still
in the brisk breeze
the pauses in biology class,
at the lunch table,
the near-empty libraries,
on the children's swings,
the tree branches,
and feel lighter as you realize that I had never left?

Or will that only make my absense heavier,
a grief impossible to escape with so many reminders.

Or will you not care,
and make a fool of me thinking that you'd miss me.

If only there was

a sea for my stream of tears --


a chest to cry on.

I'm being flooded

and I sink into the depths --


of my own echoes.

They call us,
The dead.
Lamenting the sway of entire fields of grain.
They,
With a mantle of countless lives we owe,
Call us.
When we quench the rough throat,
When we lay down the axes,
When we bow and pray,
When we strive and live.