I lay there. Back to the earth
eyes to the sky, walls broken
teeth chattering from cold
with only stars and moonlight

I spoke of you.
spoke of you oh so fondly
to your friend who saw my pain
"it's going to hurt" she says
"it already does" I say
"it's going to keep hurting" she says
"I know" I say
"are you ready?" she asks
"no"
"but are you still going to wait?"
"yes"

You think you know me. But you see only what I show you. A reflection of the symphony inside my ribs, caged for eternity in a heart that you feel beating but will never hear.

I have shown you what is lost. I hope for redemption besides your flesh but I am not looking to be saved by you. I use you the same way you use me. At night, the darkness peers in and I allow it to consume me, the way you consume me.  Bite by bite. Inch by inch. Slowly.

I am a jungle and you must cross my tangled flesh intentionally, carving out a path decisively or you will be lost under the moon without any sympathy. I dare you to find a forest more treacherous than that of my heart. A territory uninhabited. You are a savage and I think I’d let you in.

Broken people live in the valley
Where the river flows with ****
Suicide rises like the sickness tally
Depression they call it

Drugs are legal and recomended
Anything to avoid the outcome
Anything for a heart mended
Love is too weak for some

God is called upon in times of need
But He is too far away
To hear
The pleed
Save me dear God

Silence

But they hold on
To a thread
Because they know

There is the smallest possibility
That they will wake up one day
The world will lose its hostility
And they will be on their way

Out of the valley of sadness
Into the soft lit day light
Love will fill the night
And they will have peace with
The badness

one day,
someone's going to
come along and convince
you're made of stardust
and laughter
a lovechild of
venus and saturn
looks at you and wonder
how you happened
and you'll finally
finally believe it

Poetry lives, sleeps, deep, deep within,
The words, waiting, waiting, waiting,
Nurtured, soothed, lovingly cajoled,
Given form and purpose, till they rise,
Coming to life, unbidden, bursting free.

They echo around the globe, touching,
Slipping silkily into hearts and minds,
Subtly connecting with new-born ideas,
Mingling, coalescing, waiting, waiting,
That’s where poetry come from, (yes),
Poetry lives, sleeps, deep, deep within.

©Paul M Chafer 2016

I was always told
"actions speak louder than words"
and maybe that's why I'm always staring at your hands when you speak
instead of listening to what you have to say
and maybe that's why you keep spitting out things
like how gorgeous I am
instead of holding my hand or kissing my cheek
and I've come to the conclusion that
actions don't speak louder than words
because they're both equally meaningless
and that maybe you don't love me
and maybe that's okay

I imagine us
In places we have
Never seen
Surrounded by
Mountains and trees
And long lost love
That you waited to give me

But I'll take it
Because here we are
In a home
With black cups of coffee
And sunsets
In our soul

Our days are not over
Our days are not numbered
Our days are not measured
By a setting sun

I have love I need you to have
And to keep
And I want you to know
That this love climbs mountains
For you

You can't finish Spring cleaning
because every old thing becomes
Inspiration for a poem.

2. Instead of planting that garden you
Promised yourself, you write about
Your metaphorical one.

3. Because you're a romantic poet,
You ruined your flowers by plucking
Each petal in a She loves me, she loves me
Not tirade.

4. Every stupid bird is a new poem.

5. April rains bring about the
Melancholic poem inside you,
And you love it!

6. Instead of playing with your
Kids outside, you write about
It instead.

7. Even though you are allergic
To everything, you take that stroll
In the park you write about
So often.

8. Spring's promise is really just like
The New Year's poem you wrote,
New beginnings and all.

9. While digging through your Spring
Cleaning, you find your old poems
And decide to post them on
Hello poetry.

10. The garage is a mess, nothing
Is getting done, but in the poem you just wrote
Is about the hard work it was.

11. You learn the name of
new birds and flowers to make
Your poem fancier.

12. And finally,
You really don't like Spring,
But its a season, and we're poets,
So yeah.