There were some books in the hall,
I was told that they were yours,
And the thought crossed my mind
That, were you ever to haunt a thing instead of place,
It would be books-
Your books.
The smell of the old paper
Filled my nose.
It was like walking into a library.
A book of English drama
Lay in the stack-
Heavy and black.
Your name scrawled on the spine,
White against the dark.
It reminded me of you,
So I took it,
Raggedy spine and all.
And now it sits on my shelf,
To reassure me, much the way you did.
Of what I’m not sure,
Perhaps just for a sense of solidarity.
Books will always be there,
Living and breathing,
Even when their owners have gone.

I see you often in my dreams
And try to remember your warmth.
Sometimes I think I hear you calling me,
But this old house echoes that I am alone.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply;
I smell your favorite gum on my breath.
All at once you seem to be here,
And I hear your old piano sing.
The song is familiar, and I hear your voice,
“Amazing grace how sweet the sound.”
If only it had been enough to save a wretch like me.
The old house again falls empty and silent.
As quickly as you came, you left.
So I sit alone on this old piano bench
In the doorway of your old house
And reminisce.

Set apart from the world
On this little gravel road
I’m hidden away
By dancing leaves
On swaying trees.
The sun shifts
Shade lifts and falls,
And I am alone but free.

The wind blows
Tousling my hair.
And days are spent
Without care.
Country roads
Carry me along,
The beaten path
I travel alone.

When I go back
To where I’ve been
I will think of the road
And soon visit again.
Gravel roads, they call out to me—
I will always long to be
Beneath the trees
Feeling that shady breeze.

Hi, its me,
I’m loosing my mind.
Say nothing, say something, nothing.
I’m  a ****** everything to have,
For days, weeks, months, of life.
Nothing makes a difference,
No one changes.
I’m Tired, scared, lonely.
In a room full of people,
Panic consumes me.
Its dark, and cold and grey.
Its life.
Hi, its me.

I see in front of me a road and path,
It winds and turns and throws me back,
I walk and run but no difference is made,
My legs are weak and I see my grave.

I go backwards and forwards,
The Cheshire cat I see,
“Which way do I go?”
And comes his reply,
“That all depends on where you want to be.”

Before my eyes all spun around,
The melded colors flew all around,
And my eyes were fixed on one road,
And suddenly I knew where I wanted to be,
But there I was, just my path, and me.

There is something about deciding a man is good,
That makes you love him.
There is one in particular who is always there,
He always put his family first,
Even when it’s falling apart.
Even when it tears him apart.
That makes him good;
Whether he sees it or not.
I see it, and that’s all that I’ve got.
And I’ll never tell those sad eyes no,
Because even though he thinks we’re different,
We’re not.

My love left me standing in the woods,
A place we have often gone,
And upon seeing my face forlorn,
He stood up and walked on.

There were no words of comfort,
Only pity in his eyes,
I should have known better,
After all he never did lie.

Standing alone now in the woods, I wonder,
What was it about my heart he plundered,
That made his face turn ghostly white,
And turn and run into the night.

Was it my neuroses that cried out,
Like owls screeching, “WHO!  WHO!”
Demanding the name that vexed them,
Or was it simply that I cared, perhaps too much for him to bear.

Regardless now I stand alone,
On these two feet I call my own,
In these woods this darkened night,
And all above I hear the owls take their flight.