It's fair to say
That love ends
Like
Some days
Begin:

With a cold sunrise.

Had there been ways
To misconstrue this face and in
Some ways, I
I would believe paths
Rather than sways;
I would have taken the
The right way; the opposite.

Who do I think I should have been,
And why?

I would have convinced
The past to believe in
The present rather than
The future for a future
Whose main concern is - what?

Am I too selfless
To naturally be selfless or
Am I
Too selfish to believe
In the genuineness of
Selflessness?

How do I, how do I?

Who can follow
That inner mind, that
Self-directed narcissus
That prods pleads
With fragmented
Necessities whose build towards power
Lead and then goes?

Approximating life
In the face of death
Has turned into a debate
Of us vs. them,
Us being the ones who will
Bare that death
Only to replaced
By those who won't - to their hope -

Remember the past.
Remember the past?
Remember the past.

No, no they claim
They don't think they do.
So, what can we do
To pull the ignorant
From the hole, they believe
They should be?

That answer is up and over and down
The concrete hill of my youth
Where my mother, sister, and I used to live.

Another door,
Always open,
Mine own and
Not my own:

Another
Of the other
Of
Another