It's been turmoil and discord
intermittent with deep peace and love
on and off for a little while now
as we settle into a whole new world
together

I pass you, asleep,
and linger to watch you
without fear of reproach

My chest fills
and my heart swells
with the purest love
that can truly conquer all
if we just let it

i wrote you a love poem
yesterday
it's simple and sweet and it even rhymes
and maybe you'll get to read it
someday
once you choose to open your heart again
and choose to treat others with some semblance of kindness
i'm not sure what shifted
and i'm tired of wondering
or blaming myself (bad bad habit)
or concocting excuses when
the truth is sometimes you swim
and sometimes you drown yourself
you'll have to excuse me
i have strong wings for situations like these
let me know when you choose to surface
and i'll meet you halfway

It has been four years,
Today.

I am still scared that I will forget
Your voice
Your eyes
Your laugh
Your frown
Your anger
Your beard
Your hugs
Your quirks
Your expressions.

I still talk to you...
Thank you,
**** you,
Call on you for help.

You would love Him..
He reminds me of you sometimes,
His stubbornness, his boyishness,
His opinions, so different from my own,
His beautiful heart,
so carefully tucked away.
I know you'd be so proud of me,
Of my new life, new house..
So proud of your grandkids -
My God they're getting so big, Dad.
I wish they had gotten to know you better.

Sometimes I wish this was easier,
That today was just a day.

But mostly I'm glad
That it's been four years
And I can still hear you,
And feel you near,
And I can still remember you
And I still cry.

What am I to do
Here? The solution
Actually lies in
Talking about our
Emotions, but that's the
Very thing you
Eternally
Refuse.

one year later
same month
     same hoodie
          same game
               same playful glint in your eyes
yet this time is completely different
     in all the most wonderful ways

Wandering through the twisting corridors of the labyrinth,
I don't care about the people I left behind
          I don't care about your cold grey glassy eyes,
          and I don't care about your new paper wings -
I've seen Daedalus, and wax on the labyrinth floor

I don't care that you sold everything for a fifteen second flight
          and I don't care about the radiance that blinded you
          and I don't worry about these twisting corridors
but wearing these new wings you never thought about Icarus -

In fifteen seconds I saw your soul -
I don't care about the lies you told me
          and I don't care about the lies you told everyone else
          and I don't care about your razor sharp silver tongue -
your lies were only to yourself

But when we met last in the labyrinth
you told me about your new paper wings
you told me they were the key to freedom, and happiness
I guess I did care - it brought tears to my eyes
I wondered:
when you first tried on these paper wings,
did you ever think about Icarus?

Ophelia - now - might I see you
          with your unwashed grey sweater and torn blue jeans
                    ***** brown hair much longer now -
          you will not smell like you did in June,
          patchouli oil, and stale cigarettes now -
          and you'll look at me with dull grey eyes
                    and your smile so forced you ask
                              how I'm doing

mad gleam in my eye returned
I see the river running, long and black,
          I see the flowers you never received from hateful men -
you must hate me for leaving you behind
          I was obsessed with the highway
          and you with staying home -
I will say hello and look away

Ophelia -
watch the flowers going downstream,
          fallen now, and brown, all brown
            wilted memories of a past
            you cannot hold forever -

last time I saw you was December
          you were so... strange
you seemed so cold with your new wanton obsessions -
  so unlike the shimmering of the summer
  I think, sometimes, you must have hated me then
          I don't care -
I wear clean clothes now and shave every day.
          It's almost March;
I can feel warm sunlight on my shoulders.
I do not hate you -
the ring you gave me is gone -
I must have lost it somewhere
and your necklace shattered on a cold tile floor,
still, I think of you, sometimes,
  but the flowers are dead
the flowers wilted so long ago
                    Ophelia