I've walked your floor

sat beside you in candlelight
looking at photos
scattered across the floor.

you remembering names
and people and prayers
I had long forgotten.

you are the dancer
who glides this loner
through sorrows and the stars,
across the mist of moments
most treasured

where in the stillness between kisses
promises are kept
and the warmth of your hand on my cheek
felt in places to real to touch.

your love asks for nothing
and when you smile your quiet gift to me

tender one, every breath I take is loving you.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                           Lenin in Petrograd


               They're at it again! I wish they'd decide once and for all
                which gang of hooligans constitutes the government of
                this country!

                          -Uncle Alex reacting to fighting in the streets
                                         in Doctor Zhivago (1965)


More men in masks, and wearing scruffy clothes
Roaming the streets and waving rifles about
And which side they are on, nobody knows
Our capital is now all fear and doubt

Some demand my papers, and others my life
Some challenge my accent and exam my skin
Some threaten with a gun and others a knife
And some an unmarked car to throw me in

“Here, sir, the people govern,” Alexander Hamilton said -
No longer, alas; the people’s laws are dead

I need the guarantee
of this remedy,
mentally be free
of my jealousy.
Ecstasy
escape to heavens,
Heavenly,
Read the guide carefully.
I wish to be seventy
and spread the density,
An angel's specialty
is her soft tendency.
We need them desperately
In Tennessee,
Crunchy Nutty,
glutton sesame
On shelves readily
and great quality.
Gone are dreams yesterday,
No longer a sucker wannabe.
Only someone's vanity
can't express this melody.
& gone is my once destiny
to be cruel to my enemies.
My self help therapy
enables to feel empathy,
I didn't **** Kennedy
but suffered the penalty.
On display is my rarity,
but this is no parody.
We can't blame the deputy
for crimes committed terribly,
I'll never blame the chemically
of a woman ending a pregnancy.
I'll look upon weaponry
as a form of pedigree,
Pearl Jam's song "Jeremy"
announces the recklessly.
We always blame a heresy
to every school shooting
of such tragedy.
If kids had loyalty,
and swallowed honesty,
We all need wings
of acceptance,
so things don't always end
like this so usually.

I remember with clarity
and such clear vision,
I was four years old,
and was being shown
the first time in this,
old house of bliss,
I chose my bed-room
by the street's road
window open
to birds and bees.
Spring's air smelling
Now its
my prison
as I'm scared
of the outside.
I wish to be me again
and not the grains
of loss of friends
and family,
the sand pours
without haste,
slamming doors
and this I created.
I haven't left the house
for a straight
18 months.

The sun rises anyway,

indifferent to absence,

painting the same golden squares

across your empty bed.
Coffee brews in kitchens

where your name will be spoken

in past tense for the first time,

voices breaking on the syllables.
Your phone buzzes with messages

that will never find you—

lunch plans, inside jokes,

the ordinary love of ordinary days.
Someone will have to call your work,

cancel your dentist appointment,

decide what to do with the milk

that expires next Tuesday.
The world keeps its appointments

while those who loved you learn

to navigate the sudden geography

of a life with you-shaped holes.
Your favorite song plays on the radio

in a car where someone weeps,

remembering how you hummed along,

fingers drumming the dashboard.
The morning after is not an ending—

it's the first day of everyone else

learning to carry the weight

of all your unfinished stories.

If I was the core of the thrown
away of a sweet apple
you crunched upon,
thrown in the trash
after you enjoyed me,
I feel a gutter throat
of my comfort
of my own zone
coughing as
I sleep and
the daisies
and tulips
sweetening
cherry lips
I wish,
you just
took me
to the sheets
and cuddled
me by
your belly.
Woman,
No.....
lady.

The truth sometimes hurts,
like a razor that is sharp,
Conscious full of guilt,
Background noisy harp,
over-takes any clarity
and as your familiarity
horribly diverts,
gas-lighter won't spark,
we forget humanity
and true sincerity
actions of retribution
only leads up to felonies.
Black replaces red hearts.