On-Hands

My hands have taught me so much
Scarred with experience
Callused, cracked and dry.

Strong,
Blocky in structure
Capable of destruction, but used for
Learning.  The blind ***** protecting
My hands does much seeing, indeed.

They have a mind of their own.
Sometimes I have control, and
Other times I let them finger
Things out on their own.

I asked my hands: “Who
Are you to intend?”
And the hands spoke thus:
“You should have read the
Manual.”

Armored Heart

Beaten and battered my heart is scattered
Scarred and used, sad and bruised.
But what would be a heart untouched?
Barren without a soul to clutch.

I am angry with you, heart of mine
Locked behind doors, tangled in vines
Hiding from love, behind my chest
Covered in armor, a bullet-proof vest.

Can you be healed? Can you survive?
I love without life, I dare you to strive.
For the empty holes in you have stopped eating.
I know you’re alive, I can feel you beating!

Why must you hold in all of your secrets?
I scream out to you: “That is no way to treat us!”
Our mind, our soul, our zeal to console
Endeavor to fill a vacant hole.

What do you need to tell us the truth?
The lies have expired, the pain is on you.
One day, I hope, that you will recover
And be able to give your love to another.

I love her.
Maybe it's because I can't have her.
Maybe it's because he can.
Maybe it's because she's perfect.
Maybe it's because she's different.
Maybe it's because she gets me.
Maybe it's because I trust her more than anybody.
Maybe it's because I can always be myself around her.
Maybe it's because she's beautiful.
Maybe it's because I see real, true, impeccable beauty in her.
Maybe it's because talking to her, with her, aroud her, about her,
is an experience in itself.
Maybe, I love her.

Forlorn and lethargic
Until death you wander
Carelessly existing
Kin of burden

Yearning to continue
Onward, unwanted
U*ntil death, I wait

A divided country.
Once a spectator of the other half
now, in a drowing pool of
statistics.

My sense of family is gone.
Scattered in other aspects of my life.
No longer the foundation of
my existence.

Will you ever return?
I do not have faith
for you have abandoned me
and left me to fight alone.

You used to make me feel
secure.
You used to hold me
close.
You used to nourish me
in candor.

I can still see you
even after death.
Even though your spirit exists
you are merely a memory.

I write poems.
I read em, I know em.
I put them in cyberspace
I share em, I show em.
They start with a plan
with water, I grow em.
The water, so fluid
A liquid aflowin'.
Currents bear gifts
to readers bestowed is a
message in a bottle,
reluctant to open but
wonder is great,
inspired to sew em
a quilt of a poet
to warm a cold body.
A sinner, a stoic.
What is a sin?
A feeling to cope with?
For what is a sin
but already knowin'?

Old Wheels

You were only 12 years old.
1989 Cadillac DeVille
The color of the sun’s first glance
Inside and out.

The time we shared together
Going everywhere; going anywhere
The power under your wheels
Roaring like a magniloquent king.

Where have you gone
Since our departure?

What have you seen
With your ambitious eyes?

Who now handles your wheel
And enjoys your comforting throne?

Without you, I have settled.
Without your humble hospitality
Without your stubborn pedals
Without your vast storage
Of experience.

Perhaps one day, we shall meet
Again.
Perhaps to tame the wild beast
Once again.