Last night I had a
dream, so definitely
indifferent from clouds
of thought which drift
over my sober-wreaked
mind.


I squint and shake
and shiver with
movements, so
statically paralysed.
Bathed in my pit
of sweat and insanity.


To fathom these
patterns of hidden
truth, libido,
won't do one bit.
It can't cease to
become.


If I'm not careful
enough or tentatively
scarce in a midnight
screech I'll be sure to
tell the world my fears.

I won't put her in a place where she'll be forgotten,
Where the floors are ***** and the bedclothes are rotten,
Where others will taunt her and strip her of pride,
And watch her slowly wither, when her soul has died,

I will keep her and love her, as she loved me,
I will cook clean and sew, her mother I'll be,
And for that I'll be thankful and keep in my sight,
As I pay back the love, that she gave so right,

I will cherish each moment, as if it were new,
I will learn things each day, as students do,
Coz I've not done this before for my mother you see,
I will feed her and clean her like she did for me,

I will learn her new songs and make her laugh,
I will tell her the stories from each photograph,
I will speak of a woman who is the queen of my life,
I will speak of a mother and a wonderful wife,

And she will listen as though she knows,
And nod her head as her memory grows,
And look at me through eyes that knew me then,
And hold me and make me feel home again,

And at night when I tuck her in bed,
I will lay a kiss on her beautiful forehead,
And whisper I love you, forget me not ever,
Because my love for her no one can sever,

And in the morning she won't be alone,
I won't be a voice on the end of the phone,
I will do what it takes to make her feel free,
And thank her daily for the life she gave me.

I don’t believe I’ll ever
understand – or forgive or forget – or even know how

he was never, never going to leave me. Yesterday.
And how
he is never, never going to be
with me. Today.

This second, I will
make a little cup of tea
And try not to spill it
or burn my tongue. And dream of the ease
of many tomorrows from now.

Is it sad,
the way I sit,
right here in class,
acting like a ****,
writing little poems,
that show the way I feel,
the way I act,
is this real?

As i come to terms
With what I've learned
I find
It's time
For which I've yearned
Time to love
And time to teach
Time to make sweet memories
Killing is easy
It's the hunt that proves deceiving
Because who can find time,
On a planet so preoccupied