You told me when we talk its a risky conversation.
So I imagine
We had embers for mouths
And
We conversed with smoke signals.
Unable to control our spits
The  bomb ignited
In which neither of us meant to have lit the fuse.

Everybody seems to know
What to do,
Where to be,
What to say.

And among all that chaos there's us.
The lost ones.

Everybody seems to have
A goal to reach,
A place to be,
A person to meet.

And among all that determination there's us.
The lost ones.

We're searching for an answer,
Or a certain somebody,
Or a way to feel something.
But eventually we're just waiting for this always present confusion to vanish.

With this last goodbye, I leave you this.

With this last goodbye, I miss your kiss.

With this last goodbye, I realize that the pain and the lies and constant fights were the dagger that caused us to die.

With this last goodbye, I wish I put the dagger down. Thought it was funny to juggle it, but look who's crying looking at the puddle now.

With this last goodbye, I realize I wasn't perfect. Maybe not worth it.

But with this last goodbye, I realize love is worth it, it's meaningful and deep, I hope to god I hold you in between the sheets, with this last goodbye, I say, sorry I love you.

my hands haven’t
stopped shaking,
since she’s left
she took my soul with her

heartless and numb
cold to the pain
i break my teeth on bottles,
forgetting your name

i want me back,
my peace and my sanity
for all you caused was pain
put a dagger in my chest
and ****** my name

i miss you
i wont lie
my love for you is true
but the pain you left is everlasting
so when i call for you
i find myself, screaming
catastrophe.

If only you knew
How many of both my loving and aching poems
Were written because of you.

The little towns near Egmont
That nestle on the plains
To gather close the winding roads
The homing trails and lanes,
The little towns near Egmont
That sleep the whole night long
Cooled by the scent of mountain breeze
Lulled by the sea wind’s song.

The little towns near Egmont
Will ever seem to me
Like stars that deck the evening sky
Or isles that dot the sea,
Like beads that sprinkle here and there
On Taranaki’s gown
Like figures in a rich brocade
Of yellow, green and brown.

The little towns near Egmont
Seen through a summer haze
How fair and fresh and free they lie
Beneath the golden days,
Not crowded in deep valley’s,
Not buried in tall trees
But open to the sun, the rain
The starlight and the breeze.

The little towns near Egmont
What busy lives they hold
With happiness and health to keep
Secure from heat and cold,
The comfortable homesteads,
The park like lands so fair
God keep them restful, clean and pure
As Egmont’s snow peak there.

Hanna Hair
Dawson Falls Lodge
Mount Egmont, Taranaki.
January 1926

This poem, hand written and forgotten, was written by a guest of the house, in a thick, ancient tome of comments and articles, secreted in a dusty corner of the beautiful and quaint Dawson Falls Alpine Lodge, nestled comfortably in the dense, high podocarp forest, far up the snow clad slopes of volcanic Mt. Egmont in Taranaki, New Zealand.

From its high vantage point on the mountain looking out toward the curving coastline of the vast Tasman sea, the lodge affords magnificent views of the sparse settlements and farmlands spread widely on the lowland plains before it. By day the smoke rises from farm house chimneys, by night the warm honeyed glow from scattered windows dot like an expanse of fire-flies amidst the velvet blackness extending out to the luminosity of the line of breakers pounding the distant coast.

This delicate work captures the sparse beauty of this magnificent rural place, it further affords a snapshot of that particular era and of the pioneer spirit and rugged endurance of the settlers who made this isolated land home.

Marshalg
Dawson Falls Lodge
26 October 2015