To feel is to hurt.
To hurt is to cry.
To cry is relief,
And the ultimate relief is death.
So in reality, isn't to feel really to die?

when the telephone rang
at six in the morning
four days before Christmas Eve
   I knew
things were not right

they told me
   my father had died
   at three in the morning
   and would I please come by
   arrange for the burial
   and collect his belongings
at the senior citizens home
where he had spent
the last four years
of his life

they had rested him nicely
he looked at peace
I kissed him on his forehead
   like I always had
   at the end of my visits
and cast a last long look at his figure
   before the body would be taken away

    and suddenly I noticed
       how big his hands were
    they’d never seemed so prominent before

as if in death they sent me a reminder
of how much he had loved his hands
   for work   for play  for sports
   for fight and for survival
   to point and to gesticulate
      they held me as a baby and
         some times
      slapped me as a child
   they repaired toys   split wood
   built sheds   drove cars and motor bikes
   were patient and precise
   caressed and soothed and loved

they were his life
they held his world

my father’s hands

Doth thou knoweth what's awakening to thine being as a whole?
Whenever opening up, the second new's section;
Reading all of the obituaries
Seeing all the hundred's of departed soul's.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

When thing's seemeth to be going good
That little red horned devil
Satan;
Seemeth to findeth his way
In.........




©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

i am afraid i do not belong in your arms anymore, love.

I've been gone for so long
I can't remember who I was
before I turned to this

because i believed you
because i never realized how brown your eyes really were until i had the courage to stare
because you told me you were happier this way
because i don't feel suicidal when i'm with you
because you wanted me to meet your mother
because you never ask me what's wrong
because you don't care about anything
because i wanted to know what would happen
because i was too scared to ask
because ******* for leaving the first time
because i love you for coming back
because you only ever touch me when you're drunk
because his lips didn't feel like yours
because he made me laugh but not the way you could
because of 3 am nights with you are all i want to remember
because 3 am nights without you sit in the middle of my chest like a boulder
because my father warned me
because i can't do it anymore
because i can't do it anymore

I am my own worst enemy.
hold these calloused hands, guide me.
take me three steps forward so i can turn back
tell me you love me so can admit that i have nothing to confess
Massage these sore shoulders so i can return to my shell.
Pick up the phone, call the doctor. But I've already been diagnosed.
Im dying inside from self inflicted trauma.
I cant be saved, I dont wanna be saved.
An old man asked quite rhetorically:
Do you want your name in the stars or on a tombstone?

Why cant i have both?