I'm built of water splashing over edges
As I fall and break upon rocks

With mud in my bones and creaky joints
and sand makes my eyes lashes

I'm built of dust, blowing away
Carried by the wind wherever it goes

I don't care anymore for it doesn't matter
I'm just built of words with no meaning

And of empty light burning in darkness
And hollow waves crashing against storms

I fall beneath and beneath
And hit the darkness rusting underneath

Where no one shows when I scream
Where no light dares to touch my eyes

And my bones all shatter,
until they're just powdered calcium

And blood freeze in my bones,
forming stalactites, piercing through my veins

And my skin cracks and breaths escape
And the shadows sink inside my shell

And fissures seep through my irises
And oceans dissolve my dust eyelashes

And memories burn my eyes
and flow past the brims

It's only raw, absolute, sheer pain
As I tear slowly without screaming

Only tears, howls and lost love
And your betrayal and false friends

I've lived for so long but haven't found peace
Now I'm just begging your memories to leave me be

For there's nothing now I could lose
Nothing left of me or my dreams anymore

Nothing of wounded hope
And my canvas of love

I've seen the streets for a thousand years
always wandering never finding my own home

I'm afraid if I let my eyes closet they'll dream again
For I'm torn, vein by vein and cell by cell

I'm nothing but a shadow of who I was
Nothing but reflection of my past

Just an echo of a scream I used to be
Just an illusion of the life I've lived

Nothing more is left, love
For I've given you all of me

How can you tear me, love?
I'm already lying in red ribbons

I'm strips of flesh and blood
And of Silver pain and Black hope

Love, I'm smiling the last time
Please tell me to stay

And hold me for eternity
Because just forever isn't enough for me.

the museums
the art galleries
all had he visited
     van gough
     rembrandt
     dali
    picasso
knew he all
and their works
   paintings
   drawings
  sculptures
 and etchings
surrealist and  cubist
and he dazzled his audiences
with his vast store of fact and opinion
        till the sorry drunk
        troubled his thoughts
       with accounts of john next door
the man who visited
      when our man was on  his rounds
      giving erudite talks
and bargaining with dealers in antiques

Do by the book
who wrote it?
I must have a close look.

Don't stray from here
but who's the authority?
I'd love to hear

Millions follow
( I'm not easily influenced by numbers-
  I don't bother to be in the numerical know)

Do by the book
One more chance we offer you
( you are threatening me--I can sense from your look !)

Who has the right
To stand and stare
Snarl at others
With piercing glares,
Who has the right
To cast a stone
Place themselves on
Pedestal's or
High on a throne?

For you and I
We cannot judge,
Neither of us
Are clear of mud
We make mistakes
We all grow old,
Fight to survive
The bitter cold;

Now. I'll ask again
But this time be true

One day those stones
May cast at you



© Karen L Hamilton, 2012

I was driving down an old road this morning, one hand clenched to the handle of a porcelain coffee cup, one hand clenched to the wheel; digging my nails into the rubber. I've always hated driving, it was always a better place to be sitting in the passenger seat, your hand enfolded in mine. Im rolling through stop signs hoping maybe a car will hit their brakes a moment too late. Each road line painted a bright yellow, the kind that reminded me of a sun we used to watch rise off the balcony of our house. I didn't want to think about it too much, it would of brought me back to a better time and place than now but they always told me to keep my eyes on the road. It was easy to do until I passed by this field of yellow daisies, the kind that were printed on the spring sheets we'd wrap ourselves in on the mornings that rain kissed the roof. The kind that decorated the church on the day that I made a promise on forever. A forever that should of lasted longer than sickness can control.
The golden sun grazed it's rays over the old barn where we once sat in hay bails and counted constellations. The rays were blinding, but so was the memory that lit up with them. The yellow dress your mother wore on the day we lay you down 6 feet too deep. The day a rock became your welcome mat. The day I couldn't find the right way to say goodbye.
I was driving this morning. I'm laying in a hospital bed now. I'm sorry that the yellow lights of that truck drew me in. Somehow I saw you smiling at me through them. As I lay on the pavement in pools of red, the yellow lines of the road by my side, heartbeat coming down till all I can hear is the softness of your voice; I finally felt like maybe this is the only way home.