my lips are dry
i'm so very parched
my wish for water is all consuming
i drop the bucket into the well
but the well is full of pennies
each a wish, i drown in lieu of action
the water lay trapped
in a copper coffin
laid to rest by too much wishing

i saw a little grey today
i stopped and held it close
and all the sadness drained away

i saw a little grey today
my caring has brought changes
and now i am a little grey

and there is nothing left to say

I left the house that day with unceremonious brevity

I neglected even a backward glances at its dog eared shingles

It was all I ever knew of shelter
All I ever knew of protection

It was always there for me and I thought little of it
It was always there and always open

I entered it for the first time with but a few hundred breaths upon my lungs

Later I screamed within it for freedom as though it were a millstone about my neck

I grew into that freedom. Venturing farther and farther afield with each and every passing year

Until it no long felt like home and I felt as a stranger there

My memories were viewed as though through the wavy ancient glass that still hung in each window pane

My memory, like the perfectly imperfect glass, distorted the viewing

I never looked back that day.
Not with my eyes.  
But with age comes the desire to make sense of the journey.

So now I look back and I know

It was were I began

Goodbye Tooth Fairy
Goodbye Easter Bunny
Goodbye Santa Claus
Goodbye childhood

Hello Boogeyman

i lean into the pen
pushing the words onto the innocent sheet of paper
as if the pressure alone
will somehow be transferred to the reader
the ink does not flow darker
the words do not carry additional meaning
only my hand knows the difference
my hand and the other innocent pages below

the ghost of my words
fading as you go deeper
until they are unintelligible
maybe this is in fact a perfect way to show what I am feeling inside

I press the pen harder into the innocent sheet of white paper
As if the pressure of the pen can somehow mirror the pressure of my emotion

he had knowing dreams of where he was going
all along upward he was swiftly growing
the always certain hand of fate was ever sowing
fields of poppies concealing secrets of the knowing

soon he forgot to remember that which he once knew
softly trading certainty for a comforting clue
now he is on his back staring at the blue
with eyes forever closed to that which is true

O’ how will his muddled gaze ever be wrested
from the flickering box on which it’s nested
given comfort as he is artificially breastfed
hate those people and love these things is where he is led

so the cycle continues to turn
until we coach the match how to burn
birthing a new world from the communal urn
ashes to ashes and with so much to learn

quietly he drops a stitch and skips a beat
out of line, missing steps of society's feet
absent fear of plans left incomplete
he renders acceptance obsolete

he stands alone

a broken child hides
in the dark corners
of a very large man