At times
I have made light
of their crimes,

turned grievous wounds
into weak bee stings
so you could see these things
in softer shades than me.

I have turned night into day
and watched those I love
dance and play
embraced by beautiful rays
while I stay awake
in the darker hours.

I have used poetry and levity
to elevate strangers above me
despite our shared suffering.

I have scoffed at my pain,
lay bleeding to death
while I stifled tears and dressed
pin ****** and paper cuts.

I have felt your sorrow,
and put your comfort
above my well-being,
but now I am seeing
that it might not have been
the right thing to do,

because you
have gotten far too fat and lazy
laying in the excrement
of your own ignorance.

Though, I have doubted much,
I do not doubt this,
and I am tired of trying to educate
those who no longer wish
or have never even desired
to be better than
the racist redneck men
who inspired them
to give in to fear and hate.

The statues are down
and the flags have been
thrown out.

The war is over,
and yet again
we see our kin
with different
tints of skin
falling.

The battle is won,
or so they claim,
but that is just the way
they hide their lack of shame.

Divert, distract,
change the facts,
lie and lie
to divide
people who
should be allies.

Symbolic
concessions were made
so, we should all feel great
to live in this state
that greed and hate made.

Still,
our compatriots feel
the sick and shrill
anxiety turning to fear
that their children
maybe killed.

She’s got a heart
as warm as winter
permafrost,
or a cold artic cave
were adventurers get lost.

She’s got a body
like a Venus fly trap
and when you get caught
you’ll never come back;

But she has a mind
like Eden’s garden
beautiful with
an outer shell
that has hardened,
a place where
dreams expand
and thoughts demand
grand exploration,

but no one enters
this paradise
that her last lovers
departed.

Leaving all this grieving green
to remain forever unseen.

We did not evolve
to sit alone all
walled up in
our personal prisons.

We grew to be
hugging and touching,
not hiding
and scared,
afraid that the virus out there
will get us
and cause
us to be
the reason why
our loved ones
get sick and die.

We did not survive this long
by existing in
a state of constant anxiety
and suspicion,
of being timid when
stranger come in
needing help,
but now we hesitate
not out of hate
but from a desire
to keep those we love safe.

We grew to be
something
of beauty,
a collective to see
striving for the betterment
our shared humanity.

Or, perhaps, that was
just my little fantasy
and this fear induced reality
of isolation
that we’re facing,
is the place
we have been racing
to get to since
the industrial revolution.

What a fatal flaw,
this frail frame
that holds my name,
faulty flesh
that bares my flame,

how easily I can be
deceived by what
I think I see
or how I want
reality to be.

How through
the lens of sense
that I use
I can unintentionally
obstruct the truth.

Tragic that
all the facts
that make up everything
are beyond the comprehension
of this insignificant human being.

I’ve been looking,
through glass windows,
reflecting city lights
of the night life.

Strange phantasms
pass like distorted
carnival glasses,
mind mirrors broken
from the harsh words
spoken.

I’ve been searching,
seeking the smiling hearts
of brave angels
who face hateful strangers
that are full of poison,
and spitefully spitting
sick syllables,
possibly contagious,
as they go
instantly viral.

I’ve been watching
cops stopping
particular people,
seen one to many
real life movies
that end in tragedy,
and in observing
the hurting
of children
and elderly folks
I have fallen
to tears of rage
and anguish.

I’ve been wondering
if in my wanderings
seeing this sideshow spectacle,
of disrespectful,
cruel, and hateful
authoritarians,
have I found the true face
of America?

I weep for humanity
and what we could
have been.

Though we are soft bodies
drifting in the cosmos,

we could have set sail
pursuing dreams.

Now,
deep thought are lost
fading fast
into the past.

I discard my sleep
to wake in grief
with tears on my cheek
knowing sweet
sci-fi hopes
will never come again.

Who wants to go get therapy,
expose all of those darker
pieces that are broke in half,
then reapplied to the darker side
of my glass figurine
that got smashed to smithereens.

Who wants to talk about my teen years
of hormonal chaos that cost me
so many nights of tears, anxiety,
and snot that made me cough.

I’d prefer not to be disturbed
by revisiting the pain existing
in memories I have put behind me,
so, I think I’ll pass on that whole
talking and letting go, so I can grow
and get better therapy scene.

Gemini burns bright tonight,
sees a powerful light
piercing our gentle lives.

Twins skies scorched
by ice fire,
torched
by a devastating desire
to not expire.

Turquois to orange blazes
that guide us through
these strange mazes;

with sad glances
one twin fades
as the other one faces
grief,
and a similar onset
of eternal sleep.

Gemini falls quiet,
and her children blush
with the final flush,
then sees sweet shades
slip slowly away
from our face
and like ashes
we all fall down.

If I am
gonna be better,
I better be deep,
get enough sleep,
so I can go on
working out
to break through
those natural
plateaus.

May take the
longest time
but I will find
the perfect line,
then make up
a better one.

Not gonna
slow my role
or loose my cool
anymore,
cold feet
can hit the road
cause I got
places I want to go,
and while I am
driving
I’ll be learning
things I didn’t know.

Since, I know
this show
will be cancelled,
and this fool
won’t live forever,
I’m gonna get
real freaking clever,
making myself better,
so I can enjoy
this one life.

I loved my unfettered solitude.

Until, time took my disposition
and made it the human mission
to remain secluded from everyone.

I loved moving into people’s view
like little leaky drips,
just giving them sugary drops
so that when it stops
I leave them wanting more.

But that was before
closing the door
was a mandate,
and my natural state
became something I hate
cause it causes tear stains
of familiar pains
that I thought
had longs since got lost
in a past I forgot.

We will return our grief
give back nutrients
to the trees
and their leaves.

We will settle down
on soft brown ground,
a bed like mound
to rest at ease.

This will be our peace.

They said you were great,
so, I was willing to wait.

Set up the fourth
so, we could explore
the depths of our
shared history and more.

What a wild party,
made me feel
a little bit ill,
like a *******
I fell to fast
for the last
lies you told.

Don’t stop,
I hear the cop
shout out
as something
comes flying in
piercing my skin.

I know you don’t
love me America,
but I thought
we could be at least friends.

The elephant may never forget,
and neither will
the families of the
enemies we ****,
and the kids who were
separated,
from their parents.

America,
I thought you were special,
but you’re driving drunk,
using your vehicle
to plow down
the innocents you found
in favor of your favorite
heirs and heiress.
I thought you liked justice
but your just obsessed with
all that rich *****
can do for you.

Want to spend hours
paying to play
in the Macy’s day parade
while protesters pray,
you march and spray
sic streams of mace
and gas the faces
of those like me
who you seem to hate.

What a rough date.

America,
I think we should see
other democracies.

Forgive me
for my level of
gross insensitivity.

Please pardon
my passing stares,
forgo those old
fierce glares.

I did not mean to
act up and offend you.
Its just that
I like to look at
beautiful things.

I know you think
I am some sort of creep,
but I observe many
lovely things
from flowing waters
foaming up
as they chase the sands,
pulling beach back in
this gorgeous ocean,

or the feline creature
who gracefully moves
at her own leisure,
with her slick black fur streaks
as she sneaks and seeks
something squirmy to eat,
such a predatory work of art,

or the pink flower unfolded,
long before her blooms
are consumed
by time’s terrible decay.

Please allow me this
as a lonely artist,
I am merely appreciating
the art that is
your loveliness.

This is what we are dealing with
a lifetime of killing it,
by feeling our ****
while others split,

by writing duplicates
of the same poem that fits
with the scheme
we are obsessing over,

replaying the scene
in our dreams
as we get older,
and shoulder that boulder,
such a bad mad monkey
that scratches our back with
facts we would like to ignore.

What a ***** of an addiction
that makes us explore
our pains in poetry,
while others just fall, crawl
and convulse on the cold tile floor.

Crushed corsages
crumbling in stress,
come with
multi-colored
corsets
that are tightened
till you
lose your breath;

Straighten
your spine
till you are
a perfect line,
and everyone
says
you are perfectly fine;

Sick expectations,
people pass
pathetic pleasantries
as they continue
judging thee
declaring,
whether you are
or are not
a special beauty.

I am talking to myself.
Every verse that works
is a conversation
of my own making
with the brightest
fool I know.

Its not so bad.
I am the almost famous
Cinderella man
looking to expand
my influence
over a land.

Too bad I got good
just in time
for mankind
to face the boot
off of this planet
that we abuse
and pollute.

He stood and shook,
the crook who took,
us all for Schnucks.

Pulpit pusher who
spit venom and lies
at those guys
in the pews.

Promised eternity,
but it was up to me
if I suffered
or excelled
beyond the pits of hell.

Not a wit of wisdom
was given
just lies proclaiming
that I should be taming
any skepticism.

He passed the plate,
but I left earlier
while others stayed late.

I am free while he
takes his sheep
and prepares to leave
for the end of days.

Looking forward to
the pain, plagues,
and the agony
of oh so many
people who do not
share his faith.

Seems like only a sociopath
would accept that
the majority of humanity
will burn for eternity.

But that smug mug grins
looking forward to
the bitter biblical end.

She has been such a generous familiar,
having given much to many.

Has been entering and leaving
ever since it all began,
ever present
before we called it
summer,
spring, fall,
or winter.

The face of many forms
wearing that of mother,
brother, father, friends
or past lover
who will not
come again.

She has been gentle
with a serene beauty,
and brutally
violent,
with such depravity,
and callous cruelty.

She has been
in memories
and anxious fantasies
of things that
may never be.

I hope that
perhaps she
will take me
while I am sleeping.

The space bound
non-painted clown
acts like he is
on fire waiting
to back down
from the fight
he hasn’t found.

He is seduced
by the lies he uses,
for the art he confuses
with truths.

Paints reds and blues,
with pink petal hues
and terrible tints
that don’t compliment
him or any artistic endeavor.

Still, he believes he is as clever
as any other creative.

They never let you go.
They keep you encumbered
identified and numbered
classified and moving slow,

while a big bad beast barrels fast behind,
terrible trouble hunting to find
the tasty morsel that is you.

Sleep deprived you still try
to run and hide to survive.

But you left deep imprints,
so easy to track and that
was their sick intent.

Set up to be a sacrifice
so, they can stay alive,
you succumb
become cold and numb
then end up being
dinner for the dark thing
that was pursuing you
and every other human being.

A blue clad man stands,
supposedly
strong and proudly,
but underneath
the macho bleeds,
and he feels
that he is too weak,
so internally
he speaks.

Shame on him
for not always smiling,
for occasionally faltering,
and unknowingly exposing
any real emotions.

Shame on him
for not pushing
to complete exhaustion
to reach imagined
standards of perfection.

Shame on him
for not stretching
to harbor every single
lonely scarred
broken heart
that needs
a helping hand.

What a shame,
Isn’t he a man?

He lets it get darker.
As each sin begins
to cave in his skin,
he feels the death
of another friend.
Then the passing
of treasured kin.

The ground collapses
and he descends
to face the final
stage,
and rage against
that awful fate.

Streetlights go dim,
and a warm wind
starts chillin.

The sidewalks cracks,
and after that
the sounds of animal paws
and raven caws
ceases.

People stop speaking,
and he starts seeking
any redemption
to prevent him
from facing
that creepy sleep thing.

Not a bright light
or a dark scythe
cloaked guy
flies by.

It is just a light drip
like a leaking drain
with no pain
that that slows him
down.

The chasm calls,
blackish blue
and glittering pool
of infinite reflection.

The liquid is cool
as he slips and falls in
not quite drowning
but losing the outer edges
of conscious thought.

Foot, then up to his knee,
and he can see
sparkles firing lines
of lightning
sparking then fading,

Up to his but
then pass his gut
as each little light dies.

Lead heavy eyes
still crack red and dry,
as the murky water
gently summons him
to fall in.

One last breath,
then his mouth and nose
goes under as well,
followed by his hazel eyes,
and ***** brown hair.

The he sinks
no more thoughts to think
after he drinks
a little bit of this liquid,
and ceases to respire.
Instead, he expires
and his body
falls slowly disintegrating
in the space of eternity

The human doesn’t live here,
Emotions don’t appear clear.
Everything he is feeling,
is off like a robot alien.

Confusion is the normal.
Uncertainty, totally natural.
Calamity may come to me
but what he sees is destiny.

Every day he’s learning,
trying to understand,
why what he is feeling
makes him feel more
machine than man.

Everyone’s getting sick,
out work without a check,
and their healthcare is ****,

cause insurance is something
that they can’t even get.

They say keep your distance,
but we were distant long before
we turned a pandemic into a war.

Strangers rush the stores,
trying to buy more
then they need,
but that’s from fear
not from greed.

So, people stay away,
and I don’t see
the children going out to play,

last month everything was okay,
but less than three weeks ago
our whole world up and changed.

I got a lifetime of reaching,
sticking my neck out
and pleading
for you to stop the bleeding,
or help me let the flow go
all out.

I may have my doubts,
but rage is a certainty,
and I can certainly see
how you love your stupidity.

Equations written,
but instead of wisdom
you take the chalkboards
and fill them
with the scribbles of children,
as you become smitten
with committing
to business guy’s
greed and lies.

I tried to give you what you needed,
but you got bad boy lust dust
just spilling out,
with a hand full of farts
that you tell me
aren’t smelly.

This is a chilling bout,
and I am on my last round,
as this fast fat clown drowns
all the sheep in their sleep.

My *** has long since boiled over.
All the huff, fluff, and puff I got
has stopped,
and I am just this close to not
caring for
the clueless collective anymore.

Pain is all around us.
Everyone wears its
hellish weight.

Some days they may smile
but other days you will see
the tears that stain faces plain,
as figures fall like drops of rain
succumbing to a tragic view.

Society will crumble
come crashing to ground,
and in the years to come
only ashes will be found.

If I came across
the pain of loss
and the grievous
wounds you are wearing,

saw the stain fall and flow
on the floor and go slow
like marching ants
across the off-white tiles,

I would try to
get down and
invite you
back into this life,

but even I know
sometimes the night
is far more appealing
than the light.

Sometimes,
even a hundred
good reasons to stay
can’t overcome the one
that makes you want to run away.

This pandemic has given me free
license to engage in my unabashedly
introverted ways and not feel like
I’m a complete *******.  
In fact, I get to feel really good since
I’m still working, and I can justify
my nonexistent social life
by saying That I’m protecting my friends
by not going out and visiting them.

We live in
a kingdom
of silent hearts,
and soft whispers
in muffled patterns
that used to beat
loudly and proudly.

We started from
a tiny kingdom
that brought
new lesson,
where teachers taught
what has now left us.

I miss that sparkle,
that hopeful
spatial
movement,
where we were
rising higher,
as children who
aspired
to inspired new heights.

Now the kingdom cries
for all the hopes and dreams
that left this slowly dimming life,
as all of our stars burn out,
and day becomes night,
and night becomes
the black blank
of this sunless
reality.

I acknowledge
that life is not this
certain,
but needs
certain balance.

So, the introvert
comes out to play,
quick witted word games,
flowing faster
than a rapper’s
lyrics.

I am spitting wisdom
and she hears it.
The reapers beating
bares repeating
cause he is seeding
deep desire.

Larcenous lust,
pushing to touch,
so intrusive,

but I am consumed,
and engaged,
as I parlay
what we say
in conversation,
exchange said thoughts
for something caught
in my poetry.

She doesn’t know that I am obsessed.
Feeling desire’s fury, I am possessed,
with the sudden need that is freed
and makes me want to believe
there is somewhere we could be
together.

That the hours spent being observant
on the internet and in person,
has turned me into a pervert,
but I wouldn’t do anything to hurt
her pride or dignity.
In reality, I probably
won’t even bother bothering
this muscle queen that I have seen.

Wearing well developed shoulders,
She is pretty and pretty **** nice,
but I am one of those polite guys
that girls don’t bother to look at.

So, later on when she leaves,
I will hold open
the door at the gym
watching her float away
like a sweet breeze.
I will be quite pleased
if she even gifts me
a slight grin of gratitude
for my gentlemanly
behavior.

T’was
a melody of
sweet love,

a poem written
by the smitten,

words weaved
for all to see
such awesome
symmetry,

but it ran on
too long,
and I got
lost.

Distracted,
my eyes
averted to
brighter skies,
and the melancholy
of his poetry
faded from my mind.

T’was as verse
and several stanza
too long,
so I have moved on
and am currently
enjoying the poetry
of nature’s glowing
glory.

There’s a certain understated darkness,
with grey clouds a creeping
and lightning speaking,
terror into my tired being.

Sun obscured, when I’d prefer
the swelling heat drawing sweat from me.
I get cold shivers instead,
of beads of moisture falling from my head.

The cackle of villainous rage
as jagged white lines expand and disperse
cracking the very fabric
of my small universe.

There is a subtle sinister glee
to the natural destruction I see
cause nature feels extremely
violent, but free.

So, one broken branch
snaps and collapses on
a stranger’s house while he is gone.
One power line falls on
a slick city street
threatening to electrocute
any who comes bumbling through.

Torrential waters, and wearisome winds
brings in more destruction then
the frightening lightning,
inviting me to succumb to
existential despair.

Observing this disturbing scene
from a house in quarantine,
I wonder if I’ll ever see
a sunny day to play carefree
with my friends and family.

Keep it curious,
making mysterious
movements
for your own
amusement,

use what gives
those who live
dreary lives
and make it
your spice of life.

Keep it fun
if you can.

Other people’s
plans be dam,
cause this one
time around
is all you get.

So, baby lets
make the
best of it.

There is no place on earth
no pile of dirt
that is worth
the sickening hurt,
of treating others worse
than they deserve.

There is no spot
cold or hot
that beats this
once in a lifetime
that we all got.

So, why not,
be kind and
listen to others
and offer a
helping hand
to your fellow
humans?

While you were stuck,
getting drunk,
and punched
by your punk
boyfriend,

I was out
trying to make
poetic impressions
to inform other humans
what lies before them.

While your redneck
gotta get some ****,
barely ever there
partner who only cares
when it’s convenient
was getting mean
in your apartment,

I was out trying to write
love, wisdom,
and a sea of compassion
into this desert dry
dismal life.

While you were celebrating
race bating,
rich men taking
all that our labors
are making
while claiming
some poorer
population
is polluting
our great nations,

I was studying
and working
towards
self-improvement.

I know you tried to teach me
how to be mean and greedy,
but even though
I’m an amazing
autodidact,
I just can’t seem
or even want to
cash in on the
***** everyone else
capitalistic scheme,
American dream.

Sleep deprived
the thief decides
to steal the twinkle
in her eyes.

Knowing that
verdant glow
that grows spring,
that emerald
green scene
behind nature.

Dulling and dimmer
the color loses its
vibrant glimmer
thinning till
pigments pass away
like a corpse’s
cold gray figure.

Fatigue is the villain,
stealer of vibrancy
or has it been misplaced,
the flush of life
that once painted
her angelic face?

Reality becomes
very numb
as she is struck dumb
then succumbs
to the joylessness
of a colorless
world.

The battle is lost.
I burnt the body,
but this burden is
built from such shoddy
materials.

I dreamed of something,
more than just a
colored standard that waves
for brave patriots.

But the bullets blazed,
and soft flesh was bathed
in war’s wicked rage.

People were reduced
to ***** dog tags,
and black body bags
while mothers fell to tears.

Their parents thought
their children would be brought
home to cheers.
Instead, they face
what they refused to feel,
not understanding
that this fear was real.

I need a poem
that pulls at
the very
core of me,

something
deep, soothing,
and extremely charming.

I'll only accept
the highest quality,
cause I am
searching
for something
to inspire me.

So, give me
a soft elegy,
or if you prefer
save a beautiful poem
for my eulogy,
just give me
a sneak peek.

No
surprise,
when you reject
or demonize
the nice guys
who try
to be kind
and enrich all lives,

when you despise
altruism
and favor
that nasty flavor
of corruption,

when you
ignore the knowledge
and wisdom
of those who
sought education
over religion,

good men
stop trying.

So, stop crying
about how unfair
it is.
This is the world
that you made.

Praise be
to nature
and all of her
eccentricities,

of pink petals
softly floating,
then falling in
a cool blue pool
that children
go swimming in
on the weekend.

Of varying
degrees
from sweltering
to freezing
offering
strange variety
to make life
more exciting.

To tree sloths,
wombats,
and platypuses
who amuse us
with their
eternal cuteness.

For the breath
that I exhale
that feeds
the trees
what they need
to also breath
and cycles back
oxygen that
I need to
take another breath.

I am grateful
for all of that
and so much more.

The sic dream specter,
plays out that bout
flowing freely,
while I am being
constrained
by a realm which
is not logic.

Master Morpheus
slides gracefully
before us,
sand in hand
to help this man
stay asleep.

Armageddon
follows me
from the waking
world to dreams
and back out
to chaotic scenes.

Reality
as decreed
by the dark deeds
of ill-intended individuals.

They are much worse
than that which pursues me
while I am sleeping.

Yet, I long to awaken
to a better day,
and a brighter place.

I want to dull this
daily business
pain that hits us
minor misfits
with ballistic
bouncing *****
of depression
that fall
and bounce
right back
to jack slap
pain into
our red face,
as we are shamed
for our class
and unverifiable
race.

These are scary times
and I don’t want to be
the reason my family gets
this covid disease.

A lot of people
are out of work,
and I won’t complain
and be that ****
because I still get to
cash a check,
but doing so risks more
then just my neck.

These are troubled times
and I am afraid my greed
is preventing me
from doing what I need
to keep my family
and friends safe,
and illness free.

My baby brother
and his significant other
are getting ready to become
a father and a mother,
so, since I am still
out here working
I told them to stay
away from me
cause I don’t want
my unborn nephew or niece
to get sick and die
from whats going through.

These are strange days.
The gyms are closed
and my friends
all stay home,
just like my dad
whose sixty-five
with diabetes
and blood pressure
to high,
and every night
when I drive back
I worry that
this man who has had
a heart attack,
might catch something
that I bring home to him.
Still, I go in.
I keep working,
but if he gets sick and die,
I think I might try
and commit suicide.

I write
like I conversate,
ready to elevate
or deflate
my own ego,

learning what
I know
and what I do not
know that I don’t
know;

Fulfilling the promise of
constantly being willing to
blow myself up.

I write like I am on fire,
begging for unsmoked air
whilst choking on
the beauty of trying
to not be the one dying.

I write like
I have something to say,
but mostly
say nothing
in the most graceful
style.

I write like
I am meant to
spend a few
words on you
who need
to breath
literary
artistry,
like plants need
to breath carbon.

So, I write like
I am a tree
and you are a human being,
a certain symbiosis.
I hope you know this.

I write like I hate
and love you all
with the same verse.

Is it too late
to write a first date
that went great,
without a face
to go with
that shadow figure?

Is it too late
to see the dream
that I am chasing
and actually catch
her?

Is it too late
to wake in fear,
facing tears
of familiar aches,
were loneliness
takes my dry eyes
and turns them wet,
only to turn my head
and find my beloved
lying next to me
in our shared bed?

Is it too late
to activate
the dream state
that elevates
all past hate
and into
a better world
to view,
a place where
I am able to
hold on to
hope?

I fear that I know
it is to late
for me to believe
that some love is
coming for me.

He causes her
a whole world
of hurt,
what an
abusive ****.

While he is
on the road
at work
she says
she loves me,
and asks me to
wait patiently.

Next week,
he comes back
and I am
on the outs again.

Don’t want to play
that game no more.
Don’t want to wait
for a love that might be,
indulging my dream lover’s
uncertainty.

One week
before she leaves
to join the navy,
she breaks up with
her current boyfriend.

At a party I throw for her
she tells me tomorrow
she has something she
needs to tell me.
I ask her to tell me now
but she doesn’t.
She’s sober the next day
and won’t say
what she planned to say.

A couple of years,
right before her
wedding day,
She calls me up
reminds me of
a promise we made
that we’d get married
if we were single
at a certain age.

Don’t want to play
that game no more.
Don’t want to wait
for a love that might be,
indulging my dream lover’s
uncertainty.

Two or three internet flames,
proclaim their affections for me
then cut me out completely.
Another heartbreaker,
another game player,
and now I decide
I don’t want any
of those women
in my life

You are soft sprinkles
of rain dropping on
my hot tin skin,
that sweet drumming
as I long to let
you fall in,
not minding one bit
if in loving you
I am giving up
all that I ever
hoped I be.

You are the instrumental
that I never heard,
that brings with it
my own unspoken words,
tiny syllables and brand new
ideas I long to share with
all who wouldn’t mind
hearing it,

as I go to sleep
letting go of reality
you are the verse of poetry
whispered in dreams
and sought in waking,
even though I know
it brings with it
a certain aching.
I have forgotten it
but still long to recall
the whole poem,
heartbreak and all.

You are soft sprinkles
of rain dropping on
my hot tin skin,
that sweet drumming
as I long to let
you fall in,
not minding one bit
if in loving you
I am giving up
all that I ever
hoped I be.

You are the instrumental
that I never heard,
that brings with it
my own unspoken words,
tiny syllables and brand new
ideas I long to share with
all who wouldn’t mind
hearing it,

as I go to sleep
letting go of reality
you are the verse of poetry
whispered in dreams
and sought in waking,
even though I know
it brings with it
a certain aching.
I have forgotten it
but still long to recall
the whole poem,
heartbreak and all.