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
far between,
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
hearts.

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
protection.

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.