Once was a lone ***** seated bedside,
a depressed nostalgia repressed in his mind
as with a whisper his weary bones creaked
and he slipped once again into lower tide.

Upon his face rested an eye filled with pus
and his few greasy locks glued down gently
upon a brow cracked and creased
holding a number of sores so superfluous.

He smiled but it would not reach his soul
as his shoulders slumped and quivered while
arthiritic hands reached upon a mantle
and a synapse snapped losing further control.

He grasped at a picture with suicidal glee,
black and white, two children sat smiling
a boy and a girl one vaguely familiar.
A drop hit the photo, blood, sweat, tears, or
in-between.
His fingers stroked the dust filled image
and he hissed,
"I love you so much more than you have ever known me."

Don't believe a songbird.
Or, taste a nectar foiled by
a dream on a glazed afternoon
whispered but not heard.

Touch the bottom of this
hospital bed and spit
on everything you knew.
Surely, you'll sorely miss.

Clench your toes in the tulips,
and your hands idle in grass
tickling nature's hair, not hers;
this love, all within your fingertips.

Don't remember the days
Where the moon held the sun
firmly in its elusive courtship.
But beg to recapture that gaze.

Keep myself away, for I never change.
Still I prematurely fall in love with
the one whose life I'm unable to grasp.
A word and smile behind this blank mask
that you wear so proudly, so very well.

Still I imagine "what if" and "will you..."
Non-existence, nothing but a fantasy
Even this poem has no rhyme nor reason
But I merely want you to feel about me
The way this poem makes me feel about
You.

A city street in the afternoon
is where this story will start soon.

Amongst the faceless men in suits
moving fervently in their commute

an infant sprout of green we meet
nestled in a crevice of concrete.

A hopeless struggle, or so it seemed,
this tiny little pointless ****.

But there it stood, and it stood proud,
And the sun it soaked, nary a cloud.

It grew so tall, its leaves unfurled,
Around its stem a little vine curled.

Then one day I spied a miracle,
A birth greater than any biblical.

A flower with petals so pink
that those suited men stopped for a peek

And here I arrived at this little sight,
I found not just beauty, but a fight.

So here I write, I write for you,
I hope you win with your fight too.

A harsh grey sheeted the others
as that sweet siren stole the show.
With an entrance that chilled the bone
and uplifted our pensive flow.
Our desires rested on hers.

A flash, and pleasant patch of pink
arose beneath her rosy thigh.
The sins we seek of her alone,
with this sweet and succulent sigh,
but alas we only can think...

No, dream of that wavering breath
and delicacy of her chest.
These feelings are finally sown.
Yet, even though we try our best,
this poem ends with only death.

I don't remember your sapphire eyes,
or the teasing trace of a grin procured
from my stupid pun that "gave you cancer."

When your forgotten face uttered those words
I thought it was a lie, our inside joke.
Little did I know that heart-wrenching truth.

I don't remember the way your chest rose
whenever I uttered your name in bed,
or the silken touch of your hand in mine.

Your words are just etches, shattered by time.
A single blink and you were gone, replaced
by someone, my love, and my life.

I don't remember the feelings I felt
nor the uplifting leap of my bowels
when you said I was yours, and you were mine.

I wish I knew
what I know now
on that spring day
in that room of mirrors

When a breath escaped
my wind-filled pipes
and the break of ice
sealed up my fate

Perhaps if then I knew
what perhaps now I know
I would break those mirror
and fight that fate
or have a cup of tea

But because this trap
was still quite unknown
I found myself ensnared
and year after year
a cozy cell awaits

This is the end
and I bid no tale but
warning

Escape this fate
or you will find yourself
mourning