You walk around
With these ghosts beside you
And the fire you touched with your bare hands
Burns up through your ribcage, your heart,
Until smoke drifts out into the open air
With the song that flutters out of your throat, your mouth,
To mingle with the smoke, the stars, the moon, the black night,
Fading into half-remembered forms,
The soft hint of a smile scattered in the nightingale breeze
When the birds start singing through the half-formed mists
Of soul, memory, smoke, song;
The gentle crackling of the world’s fire in your gut
And your hands: singed, blackened, burnt;
You walk around
Haunted.

SOME may have blamed you that you took away
The verses that could move them on the day
When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind
With lightning, you went from me, and I could find
Nothing to make a song about but kings,
Helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten things
That were like memories of you -- but now
We'll out, for the world lives as long ago;
And while we're in our laughing, weeping fit,
Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit.
But, dear, cling close to me; since you were gone,
My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone.

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

www.aa.org
www.na.org
www.ca.org

You don't have to ask for help. Not anyone.
Simply meet them.
In person, online or via phone.

Anonymously and for free.
They are unprejudiced.

My lover asks me:
"What is the difference between me and the sky?"
The difference, my love,
Is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.