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Mark Brannan Feb 2012
Just because I’m smiling,
Doesn’t mean I’m happy.
Maybe I just have a preference,
That I’d rather be here,
With you,
Not feeling great,
But just not feeling terrible
For a little while.
Just taking a little break from the world.
The same world
That tells us no,
Or rather, tells me no.
It gives you a choice,
And you just relay its message.
How cruel of the world,
To take someone beautiful like you
And place you in a confining box,
As a mere messenger to me
That we will never be together.
But here we are,
Together,
But apart.
In the same place but not intimately,
Not for you at least,
And intimacy must run north and south,
But for me, my God, for me!
Being this close is a sky dive,
Every second it appears I’m going to crash into the Earth
But I just don’t care!
Because I’ve never felt a rush like this before,
And yet for you, it’s like sitting in a coffee shop
With your mother.
Who only wants to know you
To know a morsel of your private life,
To know you trust her in some form.
But she’s your mother,
And her friendship is underwhelming to you,
Like the black coffee you drink.
So that’s what I’m reduced to,
According to your attitude.
To a prying mother that you respect more than you love.
Although I’m a man,
Just a man in love with you
Who would love to be loved back.
And no matter how obvious you hint
That things just aren’t like they used to be,
That we’ll never be as close as we once were,
Ever again,
Still I will love to sit here.
Just to look at your radiant face
And the three freckles that guard the right corner of your mouth
As if your delicate lips must ask them for permission
Each time you grace me with one of your careful smiles.
I live for these smiles,
Both to make them and enjoy them.
To bask in their warmth
Like a happy crocodile
Waiting for the water to evaporate off his scales
And to make them!
Dear God, to make them!
There is no finer pleasure in this world for a man
For any man
Than to make a sly remark
Followed by a shared smile between only me and you
I lived for these moments and sadly still do
Even though it seems each smile
Is now a hollow shell
A mold cast by your beauty
That could never be fully replicated
I haven’t seen true joy in your smile
For some time now
And I wonder who’s to blame
But blaming solves nothing so I just love to sit here
Pondering your face,
The beauty I see in your smile,
The hint of longing melancholy in your eyes,
And the tragedy my heart notices at your lips
That you don’t want to touch them to mine.
Mark Brannan Mar 2012
Is it a mountain range?
I think that’s strange
To start in the plains
Through the foothills and rains
Over streams and lakes to bulky terrains

Up and down, and up a bigger one still
It starts as a game, one big thrill
The valleys are sweet and the peaks high
How high could they get? To the sky?
Maybe high enough that you can fly!

What’s on the other side? More plains perhaps?
Or maybe an ocean, with breaking white caps?
No one’s ever made it so we’ll just have to guess
Some say at one point the height is much less
But that’s not firsthand information, so I digress

The path is strewn with bodies whose stamina wore out
But signs on their necks read, “This is what it’s all about!”
You can’t know what that means until it happens to you
When you’ve shattered your dreams, and your legs feel it too
But you’ll miss these people who tread paths for such few

Perhaps you’ll find where the peaks get a little lower
You won’t find it by resting, push on! Upward and over!
There’ll be bruises and scratches aplenty for sure
For this wondrous disease there is no known cure
The majesty of the mountains is a deadly lure

So many have tried to reach the other side
They’ve sweat and they’ve bled, they’ve fallen and cried
But to stop is to go mad with curiosity and thought
About what lays beyond, what the dead have sought
So we climb and we climb, even if all for naught

Then we find that perhaps it’s not been worth doing
Were it a play we’d probably be booing
Then we think of the foothills, of much simpler days
When the son shone blinding and we danced in his rays
And we wonder if there was a pass we’d missed on our ways

All the while climbing to the end of our days
As the sun starts to dim but casts a dark haze
And we wished we had enjoyed the peaks
Climbing and climbing for thousands of weeks
And then a slight rose comes to our cheeks

We lie down for a moment and softly cry
Take one final look at the blueblack sky
Then sit up straight, nice and stout
Confidently moving, no shadows of doubt
And don on our necks, “This is what it’s all about!”
Mark Brannan Feb 2012
I miss you like the sky
Misses the sun at night
The moon gets me by
But it doesn’t feel quite right

I know you are busy
Lighting up the west coast
I just hope you still miss me
Because I miss you the most

But when it’s day I think it must be
Alaska in the winter
For the daylight is shorter than a flea
Of the day it’s only a splinter

And in the night we’re on our own
At least it feels to me
But it makes me strong, it makes you grown
Or this I must believe

I think the tragedy of life
Is that every time the sun sets
I know like a butcher knows a knife
That about us God forgets

I miss you the way a dog misses his master
Every time he goes away
The dog always assumes disaster
That he’s gone for good today

Who will pet me? Who will feed me?
Who will open up my door?
I once was blind, but now I see
The things I’ve never done before

That’s why when master comes home
A fit of barking ensues
Until he’s thrown a bone
And he lies down, subdued

I’ll make it through somehow
But I didn’t think I could
Because gone for now
Feels a lot like gone for good

— The End —