So much change,
Not enough growth

Hearts
     The secrets they hold can break their neighbors'
     The secrets they hold are kept in hardwood floors

Stranger-friend, how are you? Where are you?
Stranger yet, I hardly cry anymore
Just at those videos where people who are deaf hear for the first time
Or one I saw today where orphaned children were adopted

I am sensitive to that which I am removed from
(tabs on computer screens)

What are we but what we are not?

It's projection

Mommy won't be kissing Santa Claus this year
I don't know who Mommy will be kissing next year
or next month
But it won't be Santa
It won't ever again be Santa

As a young swallow learns to
frolic between the clouds and verdant fields,
so learns my heart to wanton
in the rosy scented air.
No matter time flowed by,
or places left behind,
my past fades into obscurity
as the light you bring floods my life,
and carries my heart out upon uncharted seas.

I'm sorry I feel nothing,
But infinite torment.
Listen to music,
For an emotional fix.
I'm sorry I don't cry for you.
I'm sorry I would die for you.
I'm sorry....
I can't help apologizing for caring,
Because every tear,
Every sad face,
Tears my heart apart,
And rips away the pieces.....
So I'm sorry,
That all I want is a smile,
A laugh,
A hug,
I'm sorry.
You can hate me for a smile,
Abhor me for a laugh,
But at the end of the day,
You are happy,
And I have done what I could to make you happy.
So I am happy,
When I say sorry.
So hate me if you want.
But I love the smile so never stop hating me.
I'm sorry that you are beautiful.

Trying to find
Profound things to say
About the escaping day
Swimming like those bubbles
You blew as a kid into the garden sky
About endings and capture
And letting pretty birds fly

The sky folds into grey
Peach slashes between ceilings

He names each nook and cranny of the coast
As it shuffles imperceptibly closer
“Ever thought of sailing places?”
And just like that
Father to eldest son
He p
         O
            U
              R
               S
The sea into him

“Sometimes it good to be home”
She says of the chalk cliffs
And the purplest of greens
Bruising the horizon

the heavy heart is a heathen
corrupter of better nature
committer of soul-treason

fueled by the miserable notion
that death is twilight
and life is dawn

to flight, to flail
to rage, to rail
to weep, to wail
to no avail

to unhope

and all of this minus the mercy

©Jason Cole

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