He has no face
or desire
to face
the large grate

And inside
the wicket of the grate
The little door
to the larger gate

One side named narrow

The door ****'s
apprehensions
twist in the fingertips

The other side
slides to the indifference

The 69 peep holes rock in
scandalization

How does one survive ?

The false prophet goes
door to door
selling sheep skin
diplomas
black as raven's hair

His false fruit
lays fermenting adding
pollution to our despair .

The prophet's basic fault is full of self interests
For gain and grain of easy life
For personal prestige
through others pain and strife

His man-centered words
appeal to the ears that want to be tickled with ear candy

And the results are that truth be forgotten , trampled to dust and thrown away

Beware of the smooth tongue Jacob with
the rough hairy hands
of Esau .

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                        A Cup of Coffee Not to Go

APP ORDERS ONLY
APP ORDERS ONLY
APP ORDERS ONLY
APP ORDERS ONLY
APP ORDERS ONLY
APP ORDERS ONLY
OUT OF ORDER
OUT OF ORDER
DRIVE THRU CLOSED TODAY


EXIT

for the moment that never moved

I keep the photo of you,
not for your smile,
but for the memories behind it.
The way your collar curled
like a question never asked,
the light grazing your cheek
as if it knew
this was the last time
you’d be that exact version of you.

You are forever mid-laugh,
forever leaning just so,
forever unaware
that I would return
to this frame
like a pilgrim to a relic,
touching the edges
as if they could answer
what time refused to explain.

The world has spun
since that shutter blinked,
but you–
you remain
untouched by the turning.
No grief has reached you there.
No apology.
No change.

I keep the photo of you
because it doesn’t ask for anything.
It doesn’t age.
It doesn’t forget.
It simply holds
what I cannot:
the stillness of you,
before the leaving,
before the blur.

And in between heartbeats,
I visit you,
not to remember,
but to stay.

Dreams are thought to be in sleep
I dream every day
I dream of being caressed so gently
Afraid I might slip away
I dream of being cared so gently
Afraid I might break
I dream of not being seen as too much or too little
But just enough
I dream of not fighting anymore
I dream of being carried
I dream of being seen
I dream of being understood
I dream of being heard
Worshipped, loved, cared, appreciated,
I dream so much
But is that what it all is
A dream