Just like the sun chasing the moon,
I followed you into the dark,
if only to catch a single falling spark
of all that once ignited to make me swoon.
Scanning the afternoon, he walks,
gliding on fallen leaves and trees
and animals he no longer stalks;
his sights set higher for humanity’s scare.
Shots fired in a distant haze,
as terror erupts from pious pillars
and ruptured canopies, left dazed
by disaster in evening air.
Setting in the far off sky,
a reddened oval sinking,
longing, waiting, to die
in the blistering way it seems to fight.
No one gathers there among
the deadening light to mourn
the day he shot the sun;
no one watched it bleed its final light.
*The end was near, the dark in sight,
his need for fear, his ending plight,
the darkness ate the world for fun,
that was the day he shot the sun.
I left a note on your car today,
it sat alone in the parking lot
like an abandoned century,
set in place to guard the lost
and the broken hearted.
The note wasn’t enough,
scraps of paper and shreds
of words can’t hold fast
to long lost dreams of simplicity
tainted with the purest hope.
I drove away, staring straight
ahead because if I looked back,
I always look back, I knew
I’d watch it’s tattered edges
burn from the fire left behind.
Your words seem empty,
taking up space on
such a crowded page.
Toss them aside,
gently, so they might
live to see another meaning.
Pull them from their
roller coaster swing set,
the moods that you flip flop.
And I’ll work to get past
these empty words,
empty thoughts of us together.
It’s something about the
way you say pathetic,
the words sting and burn
like the shots of a diabetic.
Overused and undervalued
by a simply judged fanatic.
The looks you cast,
as I slink past,
are all but few and
let alone sporadic.
Nights caress me with softer subtleties,
to lull insecurities into restless sleep.
Tossing and turning is bad for the soul,
bed sheets, twisting around legs, creep
into nightmares of suffocating solitude.
Darkness surrounds me with quieting conscience,
thoughts seeping through deafened ears,
from days of listening, onto blacketed pillows,
which only wanted shelter from countless tears
cried through years of reddened eyes and bleeding
Sparks fly like rocket ships to remind me that
second chances only come to those in love,
showered in towers of rose buds and daffodils,
be them weeds or strange symbols of white dove
affection, raining on all stuck unguarded, sans
I'm trying so hard,
I'm running so fast and far,
to stop loving you.
Just stumbling now,
alone in the same **** crowd,
just stuck loving you.