There’s a hole at my feet
that I know I must fill
and as long as it’s there
I cannot be still
Don’t know where it comes from
or how it appears
But it may be how
I cope with my fears
I work to cover
an unpaid bill
that was handed to me
against my will
But, for the most part
I think I’ll survive
As long as I don’t bury
myself alive

Miserable are those
whose weight of themselves
has become so heavy
as to care so little about others

I haven’t the wisdom
to soothe the grieving
nor comforting words
worth believing
But, I can cry
for a broken heart
and I can pray
for it’s broken parts
to find a way to come together again

Welcome to the landscape
It's distorted dimensions
What he sees
and what he breathes
Welcome to the skin of it
to the cracking bones of it's heavy undertaking
Now, walk with him
if you can
if you can bear the strain

When my own folly
paves the road to ruin
I rage against God

Everyone else is taken
So, you may as well be yourself
Rejoice in who you really are
and leave the mask up on the shelf

At the moment
of his greatest despair
he leaned back hard
his arms and hands outstretched
as if nailed to a cross
All he could utter
of his inconsolable grief was
“We’ll get’em next time”
But there is no next time
There is only today
and today a sort of death has crawled
up inside him to mock
all his worn-out platitudes
Like
“When the going gets tough
the tough get going”
“Tomorrow is another day”
and
“It ain’t over til the fat lady sings”