Words
can fill a cavity
with layer upon layer
of quiet lies,
perhaps tears,
perhaps

Words can numb
enough to breathe
alone

in the dark
or the light

it doesn't really matter to
Words

and I still wonder
sometimes
if perhaps
Words work?

Where do the soap suds go
when they're washed down the drain?
Do they take the dirt and salty sweat
down to the sewers, where they won't be missed?

Once part of me, my veins and tear ducts,
there came a time for us to part, my dirt and I,
so the lathery angels kissed my ***** skin
and purified in instants a sad story of filth.

They wash away in streams of white-
ashes from car exhaust and cigarette butts,
and lines of black, like lung cancer and smeared makeup
and runny lines penned by an unclean hand.

I wonder, where do the soap suds go?
Do they toss my sins to the sea to be sunk
and forsaken, like how they came to cling to me?
Am I truly clean, or must the soap suds scrub my soul?

To a child, or a god- fearing man,
Responsibility is undue.
He has no life span,
And all wishes made-- come true.

A child learns the way
Of his father and his priest,
Then the man lives in decay--
That which feeds on fear to speak.

Thin air whispers in their ear-- prophecy;
For better, or maybe even for worse,
A king of men must bend his knee
Lest all bad fortune be a curse.

By the sight of a child, or a god- fearing man,
Black shadows lie in sharp relief.
By mine, though little do I understand,
Knowledge will forever trump belief.

Buzzing in my fluffy socks,
Skipping through school in my PJ pants,
Being locked up in a cozy box.
Beaming, grumbling about the ****** weather,
Pink becomes my color, and I look best when
Dripping, and grinning from ear to ear.
"*******, it got my shoes!"
Rain, Rain, come to stay,
And if I ever have a kid, maybe I'll name him for you.

It will be a gentleman's agreement
and a lady's choice.
There will be secrets whispered
and riddles that night;
no knees will bend,
and only silver tears will be shed.
There will be a sparkling rock
and it will witness this
from two billion miles away.
In the dark of a mid- August night,
the world will breathe for us.
Words will be too loud
and love will be too sweet.
We'll balance, existing,
like we've known nothing but simply being.
There will be no questions,
no need for answers;
there will be no time forever.

Teach me all the history you like,
Tell me how the greats have all fallen.
Take me there-- to the battle sites,
Touch the pages when you hear them calling.

Rifle through the dusty, age- old tomes,
Read about heroes long forgotten;
Reach for naught but shelves of yellowed books,
Reel years back from the ones that you were caught in.

I shall speak just truths learned from the past,
I'll heed the sounds of silence echoed through the ages;
I'll sound a spring born anew at last,
And slice the sobbing, seared, scarred, sorry pages.

I shall listen when you whisper tales retold,
I shall learn from wasted voices, still unheard.
I shall love for as long as histories unfold
And live as long as the last pages are assured.

I conquered the giant once.
Was that not enough?