gun unslung
hanging by his side
swaying with his step

his step thorough
leaving sand behind
floating like particles of dust

dust now forgotten
as his step imprints
upon broken glass

glass shatters more
crumbling
like the cities of Israel
beneath the feet
of falsely declared gods

gods that now drive the mind
with intrepid pace
towards the unsuspecting

the unsuspecting victim
of such malice
that can only be embodied
by death

death
only defied by those
who can truly consider themselves
wholesome and true

and yet the truth struggles
to stop this relentless growth
of pride and self righteousness

and thus the marksman
raises the gun to his target

his breath steady
his heartbeat in his ears

a resonance that he despises
his imperfections are his enemy
And if not to be perfect then what else?

he pulls the trigger

My understanding of things, important things, has left me.
It doesn't make sense, to make sense of this
How can it be, how can this follow a plan?
There is no plan, no divine decree or meant to be.
There is no reason, not for this, not for this.
Can we ask, or dare we, who hurts more, who hurts most
It doesn't matter.  Heartbreak has no calculus
Apparently hurt, fear, isolation, loneliness, desperation, anger, and retribution don't either
I wonder if that's the the lethal parade,
and what's missing?
Abuse, neglect, weakness, genetics, propensities... Or just evil
Evil makes it simpler.  Evil makes sense.
I need someone to blame, i want someone to blame,
because I'm angry...
And I want to make sense of it
No wait,
I'm sad and heartbroken and bewildered,
     at the senselessness.
This just won't make sense.
But, I will awake tomorrow, my life, my wife and son and daughter, in tact.
What's left then,
     when there's no moral,
          no lesson,
               no purpose to it?
Just to love and mourn and feel, and cry...  For a while
It's hard to know, when there is no sense.

It's knocking.
Inviting me to come in.
Not demanding.  That won't happen till later.
Right now, we're all on best behavior.
It's calling me,
The satin, silk, and cashmere of well chosen words.
Painting a picture of possibility and promise.
Implausible pay, promotion and perks
Pursuing the path, pursuant to plan.
It's inviting me in,
And reminding me that this was my idea.
But to what, I am not as certain as I was.
Or perhaps I'm just a little afraid.
Are those tingles excitement or premonition?
Warning or inhibition?
It is calling me.
It 's calling me forward, or so it says.
I think it's forward; hard to tell direction some times,  
amidst a fog or bright lights.
But I hear voices behind me too.  
Calling me back, whispers of doubt, hints of inadequacy.
That's weird, but there's cheering too.
Oh, the blessings of being loved!
It sounds familiar.  Those voices have been quiet for some time.
Are they mine?
I think it's about time both choruses were heard again.
It's knocking.  I'm walking.
Headed for the door.

I tried too hard,
I suspect,
I gave attention where none was asked for,
I pleaded her beauty and soul,
though none was wanted,
She had other directions to travel,
Asking each and everyone their opinions,
ignoring them all.
She ran after him,
Held him tight a few times,
conflict settled in her mind,
less comfortable than mistakes,
choices gave way to unreason,
he disappeared,
Shes still follows,
Waiting for the day he returns,
Which he never will,
Still she dreams,
and dreams and dreams,
of him.

Can you read me that license plate?
On what?
Pull over.