Stillness

Moments stood still
silent; never wavering
like how eyes sometimes do
I too am still
standing, falling, shrinking
deceptive like the moon
there then not there
shining bright
then dark as night
When moments stand still
I am reminded
that what may be
may not
__________


There is a point where in the mystery of existence contradictions meet; where movement is not all movement and stillness is not all stillness; where the idea and the form, the within and the without, are united; where infinite becomes finite, yet not” 

-Rabindranath Tagore

Change

I am tradition
A creature of habit
All white; no shady grays
Definately set in my ways
I fear the colors of change
and the silent unknowns
I am sometimes an
uncompromisable bag of bones

But what if...
What if I was to change
to eat the words
I can so easily dish out
To change the way I think
about whatever your upset about
To become once again
the flower you fell in love with once
instead of the unbending branch
I have become

I have hurt you I know
however unintentionally so
But I'm telling you now
I'm not ready to let go
Give me the chance
to turn things around
to remind you of all the
sweet things that keep us
tightly bound

Let me show you
that I too
can change

words tumbled loosely
from a tongue bitter with rage
forced to hear lies
his anger misplaced  
he will always see her mother
when he looks in her eyes
blind to her fear
deaf to her cries
to him, she is just another reminder
of hatred

So many years, so many hours

trampled on like a bed of flowers

Will provide food and water

clothing and shelter

Servitude I say

helter skelter

Trapped in a box, four walls and a hole

aching to get out, release my soul

Let me out! Let me out!

is this what hell is all about

So many years, so many hours

Trampled on like a bed of flowers

Stunned and silent, I can no longer feel

My hands tightly gripping the steering wheel

Your hands are cold around my throat

Why must I be the sacrificial goat

Why was it me you chose to follow

Death is imminent, hard to swallow




Silently I drive, my screams are within

Blade of a knife now piercing my skin

You ask for me to stop the car

But I have no idea where we are

Skies are black and the trees block all light

I am tied and blindfolded to impair my sight




My door creaks open and the cold air rushes in

he pulls me out, the ties cut into my skin

Dear God, I pray, please get me out

Give me the strength to try and shout

May someone hear me and set me free

From this man I once knew, now new to me




He drags me across sharp branches and stones

I scream from the pain as rocks cut-into my bones

I give up now as the darkness pulls me under

Outside all I hear is the sound of loud thunder

This man who preaches now committing a sin

He rips off my clothes, it is time now to begin




He is going to **** me, I am scared and cold

His hands touch my skin and I suddenly feel old

Old and weak with nothing but despair

As he drags me down and pulls back my hair

As I fight to keep him from touching me

He punches me over and over

and for once I can see




A bright light just ahead, asking me to come in

Silently I whisper,

forgive me father,

for I must have sinned

Take the wooden spoon
and dig me out
make me hollow
send me afloat
down the river
away, away
from nothing
towards nothing
Ill stare at the sky
count the stars
listen
and I wont return
because Im hollow
and you made me this way.

In the end,
you've only managed to pull the trigger first.
And yet,
knowing full well the consequences,
I struck on,
hoping that someday my love would fall true.

It was my mistake.

How was I to know
— a man bereft of possessions and purpose —
that you
— glorious, important, so very very tired —
required more than:
                    a single glance,
                              a sidelong smile,
                                        a tender touch,
                                                  a silent moment...

These things no longer exist,
or, at least,
if they do,
I have no idea how to find them with you.

Dear you 
To whom this concerns

Well it's been awhile
I know I said I'd write and I didn't 
Please forgive me
I just lost track of time
And lost track of myself somewhere along the way 

I'm not even sure where I went
Or if I was there to stay
I'd like to tell you that I'm back
And better than ever before

But in truth I have no way of knowing
If these words are real
Or if the ink I'm spilling
On this scrap paper
Will even reach you where you lay

But I'm going to keep writing
Scribbling these letters 

Into words

Into sentences

Into paragraphs

Hoping against hope
That you have the ears and eyes
To decipher and translate this nonsense

I remember you saying
How much you loved my cursive
So I focus intently on each curl 
and each scripted swirl 

Painstakingly painting these words
From the dripping ink off of my pen 
so you can understand
That I don't just write these memories
Without honorable intentions 

I know we haven't always seen eye to eye
Or even agreed on the simple facts of life
But I know you were there for me
When I turned my back on all that came before me

I couldn't help myself
It felt like I was someone else
Living a different life while I sat back
Watched it afar from someplace else

But I could see you
Always beside me 
Forever standing ground 
Especially against those that stood to tear us down

And I never said thank you
Or acknowledged when you were around

Please forgive me
You have to know I didn't mean it
I didn't know any better 

But I'm gonna try to set things right
That's why I'm writing you this letter tonight

So please forgive me

I know they're only words
Scribbled in cursive on a scrap piece of paper
But they're all I really have to give 

So I hope it's enough to ease the pain
And if we ever meet again 
I hope I can tell you how sorry I am in person 

Instead of thru six feet of dirt and a closed casket
As I lay this apology and flowers on your grave.

The Bells ring out great Peals of joy.
The war is won, Great Albion.
It merely cost a million dead,
a generation lost and done.

To you, fate tendered victory sweet,
to the Germans, a bitter peace.
There, fatherless boys, abed, asleep,
plot revenge for their deceased.

In the Wilfred Owen house;
no alloyed joy to meld with sorrow:
That day they learned their son had died
They’ll dress the house in Black tomorrow.

His mother knew before word came,
she had a sense her son was gone.
That he’d be among the last to fall
for the glory of Great Albion

He fought almost unto the end,
dying in the war’s last week.
When Mortal flesh and bullets meet
Poets are silenced when machine guns speak..

There is a pathos in his fate,
dying in the last week of war
Like the man who sailed the Ocean deep,
only to drown in sight of  shore.

Gaukroger’s war was over.
Gaukroger, too, was through.
A piece of him here,
a piece over there.
Not the Peace that he wanted
in his last forlorn prayer

Gaukroger was a fellow second lieutenant
and survival was not his forte.
For days after death he lay there unburied
Nor could I make my eyes turn away.

We’d been sent to this place
to be forward observers.
enemy guns found the range.
Gaukroger died quickly,
without even a goodbye.
Sometimes, after,
I wished for the same.

When I looked for Boche,
Gaukroger stared back
A steady and reproving stare
At night the rats came,
larger than cats,
by next morning
my friend wasn’t there.