In the cosmic quiet of
A solitary dream,
I swam through the stars
Navigating upstream.

The brave may not live forever
But the cautious?
They do not live at all.
                                                       (K R W)

I was driving down an old road this morning, one hand clenched to the handle of a porcelain coffee cup, one hand clenched to the wheel; digging my nails into the rubber. I've always hated driving, it was always a better place to be sitting in the passenger seat, your hand enfolded in mine. Im rolling through stop signs hoping maybe a car will hit their brakes a moment too late. Each road line painted a bright yellow, the kind that reminded me of a sun we used to watch rise off the balcony of our house. I didn't want to think about it too much, it would of brought me back to a better time and place than now but they always told me to keep my eyes on the road. It was easy to do until I passed by this field of yellow daisies, the kind that were printed on the spring sheets we'd wrap ourselves in on the mornings that rain kissed the roof. The kind that decorated the church on the day that I made a promise on forever. A forever that should of lasted longer than sickness can control.
The golden sun grazed it's rays over the old barn where we once sat in hay bails and counted constellations. The rays were blinding, but so was the memory that lit up with them. The yellow dress your mother wore on the day we lay you down 6 feet too deep. The day a rock became your welcome mat. The day I couldn't find the right way to say goodbye.
I was driving this morning. I'm laying in a hospital bed now. I'm sorry that the yellow lights of that truck drew me in. Somehow I saw you smiling at me through them. As I lay on the pavement in pools of red, the yellow lines of the road by my side, heartbeat coming down till all I can hear is the softness of your voice; I finally felt like maybe this is the only way home.

In the dark, yet the glare burns my eyes.
Silence, yet the screaming won't quiet.
My body is still, yet writhing in anguish.

Darkness, silence, stillness... This is the battle.
The old familiar lullaby of numb.
A beckoning finger, seducing me to depths of pitch black on a starless night.
I could sleep if the air wasn't stale.

I've been abandoned,  yet I refuse to be the abandoner.
I cannot give that pain away. It is mine to own.
I am surrounded by love, yet alone every direction I reach.

Abandoned,  pain... refuse, love, alone... Fight.
I cannot be selfish. Redirection is the only option.
I will not let go. Hold the pain close, never kiss the love with its sting.

Fight. With what weaponry? Armed with pain. Reaching, grasping for hope.
Protect the love. Do not let it fall to my fate.
Rebuild. Pain is my weapon. I could cause such harm,  shove them all away.
If only I could reach, yet if I did, I'd take the pain from them, protect them,
And sacrifice myself to no end, but an endless cycle.

Fight, protect, rebuild... armed with who I am.
Gather the pieces.  Put them together. Never in original form.
New stones, fresh mortar muddied with tears.  Reach, to find each stone.
Drag it into place, carefully stacked,  meticulous placement, calculated.
Construct not to protect me, not to hide, but to keep the love out of harms way.
Without love I am nothing.
Deny, refuse nothing.
Arms open, eyes wide.
Fight, for everything.

Sometimes I write things and then look back at them and think...
                                    *Was that really me?

isn't it odd
how we can know
human nature
well enough
to write poems
that move others
to tears
yet must hear
the words of others
to cry
alone
.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,
    So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.