I hold myself together here,
for fear my eyes may never close.
A pocket watch ticks until I tear.

You left it on the table there
just for me. I stood, froze,
and hold myself together here.

I took hold of a chair, made it steer.
Crept to the edge like a recluse,
as the pocket watch ticks until I tear.

I wanted to end the dreaded nightmare;
you made the choice I’d never choose.
So now I hold myself together here.

I cry as I realize you had made it clear.
My words had slowly become the noose,
like the pocket watch ticking ‘till I tore.

Though if it were so much to say I care,
or even say, “I need you, heaven knows”,
instead I hold myself together here.
My pocket watch ticks ‘till tonight I tear.

She was never my own; always stayed
with the night. Her dark coat glazed
only when the moon was lit.

I asked her to stay for just a while,
then it passed. She became too tired
watching the pond wallow, shine.

She asked me if I loved her, see if
it was true. I told her no lies though
she danced to her merry tune;

“Cat’s got your tongue! It will merrily
be mine!” and sang to the sky until
it burst into booming song.

Many others agreed so I sat there.
Me, alone. She left with her play
along smile ‘till I sang my own verse.

“Cat’s got my tongue! I’ll chase
‘till I die!” Wailed into the night,
perched forward, fell, to fly.

Snow melting when I left you, and I took
the kite you sewed, stitched and saved.

I’d never left you before but, as a kite would,
I would explore and soak the sky in colour.

I would delve and dive, swoop in crescents,
then save myself when at my lowest.

There were times when a kite should fly
and so it would, were there a breeze to sail.

Many others plunged and plummeted,
shot through and down with a brash snap.

A holler raised for another sent down,
saw red splayed on green then blackened-brown.

It was then my friends did not play anymore.
I saw how the colours were black and white.

Only a few kept a strong hold of their string.
Those who didn’t, fell. Tumbled. Tore.

Red flushed our fields when I wrote, though the
tides of scarlet set silence in all man’s heart.

Swards settling when I returned, and I saw
my kite that once flew brimming on proud lapels.