I never quite figured out why he was always there,
lingering just beyond the light’s reach.
Whispering words I could never understand
though I don’t believe they were for me to hear anyway.
Rarely, I’d catch a coherent word tumble from his lips
‘Alone’, ‘worthless’ and ‘disgusting’ were most common.
It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before.

Sometimes I‘d find myself telling him about my day,
rambling on and on about things that didn’t matter.
Though he’d never respond to me,
he never seemed disinterested.
Some days the things I said to him
were the only words I’d speak at all.
He was there for me when no one else was.

One day, I asked if I could see his face.
He’d pondered for a long, silent moment
before stepping past the line between light and dark.
The sun almost dripped down his seemingly macabre form.
He wasn’t displeased by my curiosity,
But I could tell he was off-set by being beyond the shadows.

I don’t know what I was expecting to see,
but nothing could’ve prepared me for the soulless,
hollow eyes that seemed to sink deeper
into the foul-faced creature behind them.
His presence seeped a feeling of desolation
that solidified in the cracks between my bones
and atrophied the surrounding muscles.

Staring into the solemn being stood before me,
I’d felt a heaviness settle on my shoulders.
The weight left me gasping, choking from lack of air.
When he realized what he’d done his face distorted
into one of genuine regret and sorrow.
He reached out to console me but quickly recoiled
as if remembering who he was, and why he was truly there.

How could I have told him that I’d wished
he’d have grabbed me anyway?
Pulled me into the melancholy embrace of his arms.
Or how I’d longed for the darkness he bore
to swallow me whole.
Why would I jeopardize the only one who cared for me?

It’s easy to be the biggest wheel,
Passing out the lollipops
Stolen from the little kids.

It’s not difficult to save the world,
When the whole thing fits
Atop your breakfast table.

It’s not so hard to be a hero
When your uncle runs the war
And stations you in Malibu.

It’s a cinch to win the prize
When daddy buys up all the tickets
And mom will draw the numbers.

What’s really hard is to grow up
And be a man of principle
A man who does the thing that’s good
Even though no one will see
And crowds will not shout out his name.

To be a man who does the work
To see his vision through
Without expecting miracles
To make his dreams come true.

The world is waiting for this man
It may not even be a male
But someone with a Hero’s heart
Who isn’t bought with promised gold
And only cares to do what’s right.

Hopefully that person will be found
Before the final trumpets sounds
ljm

The moon’s still high In the dawning sky
And the streetlights cut the gloom.
I go for a walk and a mental talk
That sweeps my mind like a broom.

The desert air, to which none can compare
Banishes all thoughts of doom
I walk the street to an eager beat
Like a Bride on the way to her Groom.
ljm

I wake up to sun
pulling at my eyes,
like a worm yaked
from dirt to skies.

Kind and careful touches,
like hundreds of flies
dancing on my skin—
a pleasant suprise!

Kind wool beneath me,
wrapping me in thread
of a sheep who only trusted
and has since bled.

I wander to my home,
the path as long lost
as yesterday’s morning sun
buried under this ones’ frost.

Kind smiles greet me—
wheels thunder underfoot,
rolling into a town
thickly polluted with soot.

I smile deeply.
Live life as close to best,
I shall smile through it
like the knife through my chest.