Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

I know why I could only choke out “thank you”, instead of letting the “I love you”s that seethed in the pit of my stomach overflow through my useless mouth.

I know why I bit my tongue before I could allow my quivering lips to part and sing an aria of "forever"s dedicated to you. I would chew my cheeks to shreds until the taste of blood I yearned for coated the walls of my mouth. I savored the crimson slush, eagerly waiting for you to acknowledge me, your pet.

And when we finally kissed, you could taste the copper tinge on my tongue and the juice that lined my insides. It was a reminder that you’re holding something living. That I’m alive. That other human beings have feelings, and that this insignificant body, clinging to you like a newborn, was bursting with feelings for you.

I don’t know if I should be mad at you for leaving, or at myself for thinking that it would end any other way.

I don’t know how to tango, but I let you guide me with your two left feet for over two years. Now I’m stuck dancing the waltz of forgetting with your ghost. Our casual sways leave space for your name to linger, and every time his phantom hands twirl me around, your scent envelops me.

And I don’t know how I’m still in love with you when you’re in love with her.
I can’t turn that into poetry.
I don’t know how to make it beautiful.

You've told me
and you've been telling me
that the only place you're willing to be alive in this cruel world
is on rooftops
And that you've piled up many memories
there
is the only thing you say when I ask
why
It doesn't quench my curiousity at all
and from time to time I find myself wondering
Why?
Perhaps it gives you
peace of mind
Or maybe
it is the way the rain feels as it beats down on you and weighs you down(just like the whole world)
while you torture yourself with memories you've spat out again and
again
Or it could just simply be
the part of you
that craves the beauty of the night sky and the stars scattered all over her(like the freckles on your skin)
and the moon
how she's sworn herself to secrecy with secrets you've whispered in your sleep
and that she feels just like you
do -
plagued with darkness
outshone by others
and so, very, very cold
your
lips
are
in the pouring rain
us closer to the moon
than anyone in the neighbourhood
(perhaps she knows there is one more lonely soul admiring
beauty she could only ever envy on others.)

I've killed you a thousand times
For your wanting, your needing
Your selfish crimes

Play me a tune,
Pick a key that transcends time
With a beat that will tear the stitching
Connecting your heart to mine

I never doubted, from the moment of bloom
That my time with you would bring us anything
Short of matching keys to a padded room

You are the darkness and I am the light-
What a cruel joke the Master played
To have given us equal might

You push and I'll pull
Eventually we will get it right...
For the one thousand and first time
Your blood will be mine tonight!

maybe next time. . .
I will realize that life is more than who we are
and that will never change and I will be able
to live my dreams and choose how
to live and what to give.

what if. . .
we could choose whether or not to be born
or we could choose our parents and choose when to die
and there was never any reason to ever lie.

maybe next time. . .
I will realize that attitude is more important than facts
and attitude is more important than the past,
than education, than money, than circumstances,
than failures, than successes, than what people
may think or say or do.

what if. . .
we had a choice everyday regarding the attitude
that we will embrace for that day
and we were in charge of those attitudes
and we could realize the impact
of attitude on our lives.

maybe next time. . .
I can be goodness and mercy and compassion
and be understanding and peace and joy and light
and I can be forgiveness and patience,
strength and courage, a helper in time of need,
a comforter in time of sorrow, a healer in time of injury,
a teacher in times of confusion.

maybe next time. . .
I can be the deepest wisdom and the highest truth,
the greatest peace and the grandest love
and I chose to know myself as
all of these things always.

what if. . .
there is something special I want to do
and I finally learn that I do not receive wisdom
but that I must discover it for myself
and I know that my journey through the wilderness
is something which no one else
can make for me.

maybe next time. . .
I will examine my options closer
and I can be more selective and more patient
and can separate her lies from her truth. . .
maybe next time. . .            
                                                      Jon York        2013