A bench isn't much of a bench,
when there's no one to have a seat.
Dreams are just dreams,
when reality is said to defeat.

They don't care about what you want,
or care about what you need.
They're looking at your ghost town,
with a need to be freed.

They retreat to where they parked,
just a ways down the street.
The silence is so very loud,
but still remains discrete.

When the colors have faded,
and the fire burns out.
And the people are gone....
you become the drought.

Real is the empty promise.
It's the shadow of knowledge,
making contingent ideas for the nostalgic.
The intention, the purpose, the art of life..
Lost.

When you choose to settle for less than what you are.

From a child's eyes
To a child's heart.
Impressions lasting
First one's the start.

Young and innocent
Even more pure.
The smile to a bad day
Sometimes the cure.

An empty vessel
To fill and to mold.
A respectable child
Does as they're told.

Taught right from wrong
Morals are planted.
Posture is straight
Not crooked and slanted.

Religion is introduced
Traditions hallowed out.
Expectations set
No time to doubt.

Captured over time
In the parent's planned future.
Trust earned and lost
Disappointments need suture.

What happens when that child
No longer hears praise?
Repeated in their head
"This is not how you were raised."

When conflict of interest
And what's stood for changes.
When a child's soul is not
Resistant to the turning of ages.

Product of their environment
It's not just what's taught.
It's every lie and hardship
That they've ever bought.

The bruises the tears
For some the neglect.
Do they become the examples
We all forget?

Here from the first time, from the day I lost my virginity, look:
I have carved out the notches in secret on this headboard.
The wood a dark brown, daintily placed  at the head of my twin bed.
The tallies face the wall, the romance is dead.

In the middle among the marks, this deeper divot,
Where the grains turn to slivers: that is the day my heart broke.
I can recount the exact moment and tell you now as I trace it over,
His name, his smile, pained me far longer then it should have.
The smaller hashes that follow, all six of them, meant nothing.
See, there is no pattern, except for the fact that they made it to bed.

Over time, as it occurred, I chiseled away not only the headboard -
But my heart.  Too many notches for my fingers and toes.
See, here, that was revenge, and here, he's now an angel.
A multitude of sin runs through it all.

See, this headboard is whittled nearly end to end;
Perfectly untouched on one side, badly beaten on the other.
Regrets have created it, tucked between the sheets.
Yet, as I make the bed I can't help but smile,
Sign after sign, there will be another.

Here's to love.
The way it was always "supposed" to be.
The way we remember it.
And the way we use the past to hinder possibilities of feeling it.
To the unrequited hero and the guardian angel.
To a best friend, to a worst enemy.
For every splinter that has pierced a heart.
For every ring that has embraced a finger.
For everything divine and everything distasteful.
This is the nightmare of a hopeless romantic.

I remember the day I heard the bird bark.
Flying into the future, a plethora of dark.
He dropped from the top, falling into a soar.
Forgetting the cage, trapped by the door.

Broken windows
and opened doors.
Chipped paint
and faulty floors.
A rusted ****
and restless yellow.
A shadows moment
in an empty hello.
A different view
hidden corners.
A little light
from too nice of a foreigner.
A promise here
forgotten there.
The damsel in distress.
Beware.

An angel is supposed to guard,
here she sits while her beloved forever sleeps.
A concrete face, a whispered lullaby,
while loved ones grieving weep.

The tombstone stuffed animal,
just another soulless face.
A way in which to remember you,
by someone elses grace.

But your memory meant so much more to me,
than an ornament cast in stone.
The featured wings can't calm a visit,
when I'm standing here alone.

“Gypsy,” he whispered swinging a knife at her throat.
But she bundled him in a blanket,  patience and hope.
He was painting their faces to hide all their beauty.
So she was leading her cubs like it was her duty.
He was singing the song of a desperate man’s tongue.
She was flipping her mane in the dawn’s early sun.
He was a memory trashed through the lens of a camera.
She had done what she wished but not how she planned ta’.
Grits in a bowl like miniature maggots.
Freeing her mind behind the puff of a ******.
A favorite place but that place has no door.
He was putting his way on the green of a *****.
Till he learns that he's road **** plucked at by the crow.
The child that is, but just doesn’t grow.

Can the city girl escape the city?
Can the gorgeous not be pretty?
Can the sarcastic not be witty?  

Can they undo what's been done?
Can the adventure not be fun?
Can the hunter sell his gun?

...... No.
They take it everywhere they go.

What do you mean to me?
You're gold.
I've never been first place.
I won't plan on it either.

I'm just here to get folks by.
Need a lift? Here's a ride.

When the word vacant speaks not only for time,
but the building itself and the man lost inside.

I traveled several seas of no where dreams.
To a paradise that existed only between destinations.  
You could find me, if you time me, but I'll never stay too long.
For tomorrow is not promised.
I'm running out of daylight.

Reassured by your passion forget all the strife.
Pick up your board and skate away life.

"And you will make the dream catcher,
To set above his head?
And can you use these feathers
From the bird we sacrificed instead?"

Two days before, it began,
The horrible visions in his head-
Nightmares had left him paralyzed,
In his sleep, loitering, but dead.
At first he was alive
And as strong as strong could be.
Then a leap of faith
Turned into catastrophe.
A voice, a love, and then the shock.
The pebble broken off the rock.
A lifeless sleep in the face of day
Behind closed eyes in disarray.

And I could hear my heart beat,
The dream catcher may not be enough.
For it seems as though he's seen it all
His life a little rough.
I agreed in helping her;
And my head it wandered fast.
With dread in case this didn't work
The nightmares slipping past.

And when I came, she held his hand.
A woman a drift, yet here on land:
And, though no word was said at all
I knew she knew the plan.
Because her heart was set,
She did not sigh, or moan, or fret.
In fact she hardly wept,
Her love it took a stand.

I gathered the feathers,
Securing them tightly.
Weaving the string in and out,
Ever so lightly.
My hands were stiff
But I kept going.
Despite the fact
Of not really knowing,
If this was going to work.

Her eyes somewhat piercing,
For she hardly blinked.
It made me wonder,
It made me think:
Will I ever love
Like this woman does?
Tangled in another's soul
Just because.

At last I pulled the scissors out
Cutting just below the final knot.
Filled with hope now, not a single doubt,
Because I gave it all I got.

Handing her the perfect dream catcher,
She smiled and then she said,
"Would you mind doing me the honors
Of placing this above his head?"
I cried for her, she had no tears.
Of all my days and all my years,
I've never met a woman more humble
Despite the shift in gears.

I hung it up, just as she asked.
She took a silent, in drawn breath.
Can we save this man lost asleep,
Or will the nightmares be his death?