she is all but
gone from me now

sitting quietly in her chair
a mix of memories
and medications

she used to be fierce
and bigger
than her four foot nine inch frame

but now bones and flesh
fall and curve in
gnarling hands and feet
making  her skin
look and feel like a letter
read a thousand times

her voice once so rich and strong
once full of opinion and humour
is now but wind
sighing through ever present pain

I miss the quickness
of her wit the most,

But I miss the mothering more.

Time has reversed our roles
and the decisions are all mine now...

She has out of sheer weariness,
having battled so long, for so hard

aceded her will
to the slow walk of dementia


She sits quietly in her chair
memories gathered
about her, as her companions

Some days it is like I am not here
and others,
she is not there

The days we meet
in passing....
or for a a good while
are gifts that shine bright
at least, in my saddened mind

On the other days,
I hope and pray...
she finds herself
amongst friends
in happy times...

as she wanders slowly away from us

By Arcassin Burnham


Never shy from the drama but I'd rather take the new pacifist
Route,
Guts and glory , not sorry for all the things that you've lost
When you deal without,
I'm so stuck up with changing people's point of views , it's a waste
Even in itself,
I got no room for people in the past that brought me hatred , you
Get no help,

             So tell me what's on your mind right now,
             Do you wanna run from home,
             You wanna be on your own,
             Escaping through warzones,
             Your dad left you alone,
             Is your pedestal so high for life to move on,
             So your thinking now that you're really fit for the throne,
             If anything....
            
I've recollected the bad memories and learned from everything I've
Been through,
There's no freedom , no courtesy and no light , every man wanna be
The best dude,
Saying what's on mind cause the fight will begin like the preparation
Of life,
I was lost but God found me in a sea of sins , time to make it right.

Why aren't you ashamed
Of yourself, your friends
Of anyone around you
That chooses to pretend
That some people are
Somehow lesser beings?
How can you all sleep
With that kind of feeling?

Did somebody close to you
Get inside of your mind
And coach you every day
To be deaf mute and blind
To the beauty of people
And all the good they do
If they were created
A bit different than you?

Did some crazy crook
On some show on teevee
Tell you it will be fine
If you hate them and me
Because we demand
The right to just be?
Who has mistrained you
To despise equality?

If the people around you
Hear such talk and approve
Why did you not decide
To get up and move?
Instead you have chosen
To point fingers and blame
People who are innocent
Why aren't you ashamed?

Your words unfold like a map
marking the journey through a single day,
made from the comfort of my chair.
You wield your vision like a weapon,
bold slashes with your pen
leave me vanquished in your mirror.

Now the room lies still,
the single pulse your hard-bound words,
taking shape the way a fence crawls across a winter field,
wielding life like a paintbrush,
your pictures more exciting
than the margins where I’ve played.

let it be because she reminded you of me.
that her blonde hair was cut in a chopped short mess,
just like mine.
and her laugh was a silent, gasping for air, kind of laugh.

that her eyes were green but you imagined they were blue,
that her lips almost tasted like my coconut chapstick,
that if you squinted your eyes hard enough,
she had my freckles.

let it be because she was wearing my favorite perfume,
because she was wearing my favorite color,
or because she was wearing black nail polish
that she had a bad habit of scratching off.

let it be because it was just a kiss,
because it didn't mean anything.
let it be because you were missing me,
and she was the closest thing.
let it be a stupid, heat of the moment, mistake.

let it be because you were drowning in loneliness,
and she was a boat.
or let it be because you couldn't feel me anymore,
and she was just at arms reach.
let it be something you will never do again...

just don't let it be because you don't love me anymore.

I've learned to let people go.
Because no one stays
and in the end everyone fades
you have to learn to let go.
And accept.
So I let them drift
out of my life
and I try not to scream
because I've built concrete walls
around myself
but I'm still wounded
from the times they damaged
my memories and threw them
into abyss of bitter agony.
But I'm an hourglass
with no sand and
my time is standing still
and I can't breathe
because my lungs
don't carry wind anymore.
And I've wasted too many pages,
too many words,
too many metaphors
to explain this emotion
It's so palpable that I feel it  
throbbing in my severed veins.
But I can't I can't I can't
fill this hollow inside me
and I've learned to breathe
with drowning lungs.
I've learned to be dead
with a beating heart.

You don't want me.
How could you?
You don't need me.
Why would you?
But you won't leave me
Like you should.

I want you.
To quit your fun with me--
I need you.
To be done with me--
I can't leave you.
So you need to run--

I fear every  tomorrow  
All my life it only brought sorrow

Tragedy on top of tragedy is stacked
I'm spread eagle on life's torture rake

The universe keeps twisting the screws
Will it ever be over,  haven't I paid my dues

Isn't forty years enough suffering
What other catastrophe is out there hovering

I fear the winds of change
Still I feel them just the same

For change has only ever worsened my plight
Agony always takes another bite

Look forward to tomorrow, is what is said
But I only see it in black and red

A romantic realist such as Thoreau
or a magical realist such as Garcia-Marquez,
unable to fend off fate
or rain
might say to a tree
thank you for allowing me to ****** you
to put a roof over my mortal head.
To which a cynical but congenial tree,
as valuable as a metaphor
as it is as a roof beam, might reply,
that though I, with my brothers and sisters
gave you every breath you’ve ever breathed
you murdered me for momentary expediency
and possess the audacity  
to write your poems on my dead skin.
Well, breathe as long as you can,
you romantic **** ant fool.
I’ll be a roof beam a hundred more years.
You’ll be nothing more than evaporated tears.

Larry Schug

A mark in time
Up the arm of one
Who forgot a time
When happiness was an everyday factor,
When he didn't need to wear a façade
When people could tolerate his humour
For it was the only way
That he could keep smiling

But it is supposed
That without times of extreme sadness
One would never know
When they were happy

And now these scars...
Every time he looks down
He is disgusted
With himself
Disgusted
With the world

Is it any wonder he wants to burn it all?
Leave an equivalent mark of time
A mark of pain, of untold hurt,
Of malicious torment
Upon the world that inflicted it
Upon him?

I suppose it's no wonder
I wish to engulf this world in flames...