winter around the corner
and where will i be
when the last day of autumn
has exhaled its last breath
i can feel something more
than the cold creeping
in the cracking of my ribs
and there is a pain
beyond the numb sleeping
in the stagnate pulse of my blood

winter around the corner
and how will i be
when the last day of autumn
walks away with
the marrow of my bones
when my ribs are cold and still
when my pulse has gone to sleep
how will i be
at the winter of my death

no worry dear friends...

I am in no rush to go
it has been a full life
it continues still
to be a good life

love and joy abundant
grief and loss and sorrow
painfully they have been  
but durable
bearable
no tale of life can walk
a road free from days
of melancholy rain

my heart
what stories it would tell
if i could pull it from my ribs
and sit it here upon the stage

it may curse my name
it may tell of heavy woe
but for every burdened song
there was a blessing
a time of immortal feats
a pause along infinity’s horizon
a night that held down the sun
for one last eternal kiss

a memory that death
will not take away

my heart often battered..
broken...
abused...
betrayed...
never stopped beating
never stopped believing
never stopped loving
those that made it love

i look back through
summers spent and gone
and feel the autumn
spreading through my bones  
i suspect the winter of my death
will come with snow
and gentle wind

a passing day that will give way
to eternal night
and much like life has been
I suspect the winter of my death
will be just as beautiful

was she plucking
at his heartstrings
or was it something deeper
or just something lower
a hunger he forgot to feed
a desire
a longing
a sinful intervention
from his melancholy

was it the color of her lips
or the curve of her smile
the wet scent of her hair
or the soft skin of her neck
that drew his attention
to dreams of lust

or was it the play of words
that set the stage
of his imagination
to a fairy tale
of tragedy and love

was it all
just fabrication and myth
a vain attempt
to mask loneliness
as perfume and poetry  

to hide tears that reeked
of heartache and desperation
hours of solitude disrupted
by an ugly sob
a boy lost in the labyrinth
of broken man

as she plucked
at his heartstrings
was it the slow dirge
of a funeral march
or was it a song of redemption
she played from his heart

She turns tragedies into sins
heartache into lust
she has other reasons to smile
than the simple act of joy
her lips know the art of mischief
she can write complete sonnets
without using a single word
with just the slide of her wrist
her fingers can draw out
the metaphor of a moan
no syllables
only sighs
she can steal anything
from anyone
but everyone
always willing gives
whatever she wants
whenever she wants
if you catch her lips
curved up into a smile
you might be become
her next tragedy
after she writes you
into her sins

I wonder what it is...
what keeps the heart beating...
where does it find the will...
despite the pain...
despite the hollow...
how does something so broken...
function without fault...
without hesitation...
how does it keep us alive...
against our best efforts to not be...
shallow breaths drowning in our lungs...  
nothing but ghostly echos in our footsteps...
a longing to return to dust in our marrow...
and yet...
the heart beats on...
words buried under whispers...
silence the only thing that roars...
white noise lost in our eyes...
but the heart keeps going...
despite the empty...
despite the heavy...
keeping us alive...
and I’m so tired... ...
exhausted...
from this beating thing inside my chest...
from caring too much...
from not caring enough...
from dreaming...
from not dreaming...
from believing in something more
while watching it all
turn to something less...
and I wonder...
how much longer...
can the heart beat...
before it feels...
all that hollow...
all that heavy...
before it feels tired too...

I know I should keep
these feeling buried
until I am in my grave
I know there are some things
I just shouldn’t say
but I can’t help but wonder
what it would be like
to hold you through out the night
until the morning bird has come out
and sung his song
after the moon has watched me
strip you one by one
of all your clothes
and dropped them
as we stumble down the hall
on the way to your bedroom door
count each step sin by sin

and I know...

and I know...

these are things I just shouldn’t say
but these are the things
burning in my blood
that are going to haunt me
long after I am in my grave
a regret of either what I did
or what  I didn’t say
it’s going to burn me either way
so what should I do here
should I not be here at all
either night or day

and i know...

and I know...

this is a thirst for what I cannot drink
a first kiss that will never be
this hunger for what you cannot give
a warm body of comfort
throughout this long cold life
that gets shorter
the longer I hold my breath
and I’m drowning in my heart
as it is turning blue

and I know...

and I know...

I am just wishing on a distant star
from another life
when I was younger
when if you had been there
it wouldn’t be impossible
for you to be
the only thing my heart
would need to breath
you could have been
all the blood in my lungs
you could have been my one
and only love
but fate wasn’t a star I could reach
and pluck from the sky
in my life from another time

and I know...

and I know...

I know I should keep
these feeling buried
until I am in my grave
I know these are things
I just shouldn’t say
I know I am going
to regret them either way
stuck in my throat
or falling from my mouth
you can’t be the only thing
my heart needs to breath
you can’t be all the blood
filling up my lungs

and I know...

and I know...

I am haunted by
all of these feelings
that will follow me to my grave
no matter what I do or say
what should I do here
should I not be here at all
either night or day
what should I do here

My heart feels too heavy
to carry through another day
which means
it is still alive
still beating
and yet
to be honest
I don’t want to hold my head up
I don’t want to stay above
the waters of a shallow grave

what in this world
will give me back
the will to live
when hate is so quick
to take a breath away
to stop a heart
inside a strangers chest

what thesaurus of fear
what dictionary of ignorance
what is it that defines
the vocabulary of the blood
inside the mind
that loathes the brother
he does not know

the senators keep praying
praying for another distraction
the congressmen keep thinking
thinking of no one but themselves

and we just mindlessly nod
and bob our heads
debating who is to blame
pointing fingers while ignoring
our own reflections

apathy keeps us choking
on our own silence
and why are the living so quite
how is it that the dead
with no air in their lungs
no movement in their hearts
can sing so much brighter
can speak so much louder
than so many of those
that are still alive

nothing good will come
from the living
who refuse to speak for the dead
and the dead must be sick of dying
and I wonder why the grieving
aren’t sick to death of grief

and in all honesty I find it hard
to live another day in a world
that can make my heart

feel so heavy

too heavy

to carry through another day

but its there in that weight
isn’t it
that heavy
that burden of hope
that we know we are still alive
that are lungs can still take
and give breath
that our hearts can still beat
still pound beneath our ribs

and there in our pulse
no matter the weight of our hearts
should we not always
find the will to be alive

Something feels dead
and hollow inside my chest
and all I can hear
is the echo of distant gunfire
and the pleading of future grief

how many more bodies
will find their spirits
ripped away by bullets
piercing holes through their flesh
how many more lungs will burst
by the pop of gunfire
how many more hearts
will be poisoned by
the taste of lead
then no longer move

the only thing more endless
than the violence
is the debate of do nothing
or do even less
than nothing
and we all wear the target
of the wrong place
at the wrong time

wishfully thinking
it can’t happen here
even though it is
painfully obvious here
is now everywhere

I try to listen for anything
alive inside my chest
but all I hear is the echo
of distant gunfire
and the pleading of future grief