but the worst feeling of all,
is going to bed at night
not proud of yourself*

why do you cast yourself as unworthy?
consciously denying yourself of your privileges-
that of love, of faith, of courage, of joy

sadness is my comfort zone
i dwell in the realm of hurt
i tried to escape
the light vaporized my eyes
it stunned my skin
i tasted my last breath

i exploit my freedom to feel
foolishly discarding the thread to peace
knotted in sunken ropes
falling deep in the sea

DID I see a crucifix in your eyes
and nails and Roman soldiers
and a dusk Golgotha?
  
Did I see Mary, the changed woman,
washing the feet of all men,
clean as new grass
when the old grass burns?
  
Did I see moths in your eyes, lost moths,
with a flutter of wings that meant:
we can never come again.
  
Did I see No Man's Land in your eyes
and men with lost faces, lost loves,
and you among the stubs crying?
  
Did I see you in the red death jazz of war
losing moths among lost faces,
speaking to the stubs who asked you
to speak of songs and God and dancing,
of bananas, northern lights or Jesus,
any hummingbird of thought whatever
flying away from the red death jazz of war?
  
Did I see your hand make a useless gesture
trying to say with a code of five fingers
something the tongue only stutters?
did I see a dusk Golgotha?

every day, speak a little less
reduce the number of words you say from half to
ten less, and then none at all.

Don't forget to be soft.
Kiss your mountaintop goodbye for
one last sunrise and descend
into the night
where it's quiet
like you should be.

one by one, pull back towards yourself
the orbs of energy you've left
bouncing around you in the
atmosphere.
be their chalice
one last time
and watch them burn out.

and when you're reduced to
dying ashes and deathly whispers
a strong voice will suddenly falter
and they wonder -
*didn't we once know a ... ?