It seems that
there are some lessons
that can only be learned
the hard way.

I am like
a small dog,
every second
I need confirmation
that I am loved.
Every absence
encases an eternity
of solitude.

Was I
a good boy?
I might have been told so
a few minutes ago
but how about now?
My self doubt
will last forever,
only to be dispelled the next time
you place your hand on my head.

But withdraw your touch
and the next eternity
starts again.

Summer blue
and egg whites
smeared across
the horizon.

It will rain soon.

To happiness and health
and future prospects
of wealth.

Why the obsession
of not experiencing pain?
So what if all that I do
or try
is a futile effort?
Pain is reassurance that
I am correct in my feelings,
and rare proof
that connects me
to great poets of the past.

Everything in my life
is filled with a lightness,
a brevity,
I do not take anything too seriously anymore.
All is as it should be,
just as my pain should strike me bitterly,
my affection will act to unburden me
of emotions too heavy to carry in secret.

There are only dire consequences in loving too little,
One can justify the suffering associated with loving too much.

When the heart is in anguish
so few people matter.

We are all consumed by flames
which can only be quelled
by the delicate touch
of another.
But it only matters who
not how.
As long as they try,
we can come up with an infinite amount
of justifications
to excuse ourselves of our sadness.

But think of those who try
and do not a thing for our sorrow.
They are the ones who write poems
about anguish in their hearts.

My footsteps,
like finger tips
on a piano,
play a
lonely song.