Her heart broke in fractions
It took time to mind
Whilst her world was crashing
She cleaned her plate to mine

The scraps left from debt
Remnants of a feast
Shreds that I’ll collect
And painfully admit It feeds me.

And when her hands are clean
And the mess seems far away
I’m left to reconstruct
From sifting through a memory

They gather in the parlor
Living the best,
Sharing the worst
She felt the need to live
As I never was

And what am I to write about
Once blame and anger passes
Passages that twist perception
are now without a precedence

Erosion left behind
Room for pain to grow
I’m to believe in change
And with my unsoiled hands
**** the seeds you sowed?

Honey,
I’m left fitting pews,
And filling words upon a tombstone.


I’ve amassed a fortune
Of doubts, thoughts and analogies
Forgetting we were all once fools
Reminding souls of forgotten dreams

A dying flame, that draws the weary
Answers soft voiced questions
With T’s to dot, she eyes the cross
Finding blessings she forgot to mention

Blue/Green flames are those we tend,
Tend to last and remember
I placed my will outside of reach
To draw the fleeting to the dying embers

Purgatory is sprouting tulips
Dante’s returned home
But honey,
I’m left fitting pews,
And filling words upon a tombstone.

I fell tired today.
Not weak,
Like a withering **** in setting, no.
I was not.
I fell tired like the cooling rails
Beneath an angry train car,
Pressing and creaking before his last stop.
And I stopped, to take

A breath of fresh air would pass me by.
I fall behind, and lose sight of my thoughts.
And if I'm only trepidation, I only mind --
Behind a set of eyes that lock
On to what should have been a glympse.
I find pride in

A will to endure: that of which
I owe simply what I've slowed to give.
Here I find the waning use of penitence.
I checked my laurels; signed them,
Cashed them, Spent.
I press to the rails and though I'm no train,
Assuming the weathered do not break, we rest.

I'm still grinning.
I live simply.
Picture as I fell
I did not have to count,
For all my blessings were at hand.
And with an open palm
And protesting of my mind, they fit.
Dare it to think - Dare I.

I'm spinning. My entire life I've chased
Never stopping to weigh my destination.
Though my past is catching up
I'm as sure as the beams beneath me.
A free ticket wouldn't get me on.
Be coy as you can muster.
Save face and save prefacing.
Breathe, my old friend, I've fallen tired.
The train has left the station.

Where has the wind gone?
To find new sails,
Stitching their own of parchment.

Where has the wind gone?
In every man burns warm a fire
Hearths that only need be stoked.

Setting off into the blue.
Currents warmed by sunlight,  
In the night grow cold.

Settle and you may find warmth,
From each dying ember,
Convinced the sun will never set.

I can only speak of sparks
Where once the flames burned brightest.

That when the wind did not shift,  wisened.
And set fire to the parchment.

I stay awake awaiting sleep
or a reply.
the door keeps on knocking,
Friends to let the world in
And within my best interest.

I hide as the music plays on
only to answer as they walk away.
I deadbolt the door
only the want of a chime
And car alarms to keep me awake.

I want her to say it's all right
that I go for awhile
I want her to comfort and assure me
that it was a mistake
to leave him and that she doesn't need me.

And I want the guilt to stop rising
Throbbing
As the car doors keep slamming
as the front door keeps knocking.

I started out a friend
from the other side I came calling
And fed my own ends
only to beg for forgiveness
And hide behind my door
that remains unshattered

before I can rest
the porch creeps three times,
then once, sounds of wooden footsteps.
I shut out the light
And see a glow from a message
bury it in the couch
fore there is no happy ending
Only guilt and fear of truth
as the car doors keep slamming.

It's true I've grown too lazy

To chase a dream
or wait to die
To chase the greatest of lies
or inheret a life of ease.

A choice that should not be
made in good company.

The trick is to pass
while you're still alive.
To survive,
knowing the smile will fade last.

A choice that should not be
made at another man's  feet.

Bury the shovel.
Lean the stiffened body to.
in an ever so relaxed posture.

Nothing left to market.
Prop a sign:
'Will work for purpose '

A choice made for an industry.

For mine,  I'm still waiting.
Though it's true, I have grown lazy.