I've lost sight of what's important

My body runs on anger
what shall I do with despair?
I am uncertain of how
to handle gloom and sorrow

my body runs on anger
I’ve no use of thee, despair
so out with you, oh, fowl cow
and return to the dark of below

what did this to you, my strong one?
what reduced you to such a state
so cold and pale and weak and frail
as though someone didst sedate..
wake! wake! I cannot take the wait.

you, never meek, who forbade me to weep
how can you lie so, with no trace of life?
I choked at the sight
but did not shed a single tear
I did not, I promise, not even one

the needles and pipes and tubes and pins
cover every available inch of skin
no stretch of wrinkled flesh remains unprobed
icy skin makes my blood to fire akin

vile, putrid bile rises in my throat_
wretched sorrow, arointh thee!
-I cannot handle woe.

The sky’s a light carnelian’s shade
and, as the brightness starts to fade,
from carnelian to carmine he turns, too-
soft to vivid tones of the hue.
Looks into the ‘windows to my soul,’
     (‘windows to one’s soul’ he called them)
The intensity nearly swallows me whole-
his windows a pair of solitary gems.
Eyes the colour that fire should be,
a fury to turn flames green with envy.

So as carnelian turns to carmine
and the heavens light up with his glow,
a firefly’s brightness is overshadowed,
but the yellow is whitened down in snow

A lone, saphhired rhododendron in full bloom
unaware of its death in a pluck so soon

The furious ball of rage sets
and us (three!) need to return
-a lingering gaze for a moment too long,
cheeks of crimson and burn!
For too long have we tarried,
our hours have wasted the day
Find no longer a reason
nor any excuse to stay

Peer over the edge a last time
     (indecision, in control)
At the vast expanse of cerulean, sublime
     (pause to contemplate my goal)

Tucks the blooming rhod’ between a lock and an ear,
breathes, “it looks prettier still here,”
for another second holds ( ) near
and in parting’s ‘sweet sorrow’ starts to disappear

A gunshot echoing, a resounding sound,
as he turns away from the mead’.
His body slowly hits the ground,
and I know I’ve killed him dead.
For the first time, a lamenting tear’s grace
rolls down one side of my face
and all I see is red.


A gunshot, a second time, lying in bed,
*brow, hair, pillow- all soaked in red.

The Sun, red as night’s carnage
crashes down
As colours bleed deep blues
and mix into the wave’s crown.

Sky’s witch in raging fury
fingers down
Bright bolts of light that crash
And melt into grey; they drown.

Grey shards, pelting like bombs
Forks falling ‘to an abyss
Flailing, floundering they drop into blue
But the hue seems to drown them in bliss.

The sky’s beams breathe bright beads
Yellowing the neon string
sinking with the thundering rain that feeds
A large and hungry monstrous thing.

Sky runs down to see the sea
sisters bound and still so free
while the roaring thunder laughed
dark closed its jaws ‘round the sun.

I sit on a droopy windowsill and gaze out
at the stars above me in the stately sky of coal.
I let the smoke fill me, pollute my corrupted lungs,
‘til it plugs me, completely consumes my sticky soul,
and midnight sorrow blanket hugs the heart in my hole.

I sit and I consider the sky
with its million-and-one jewels
that adorn the vast carpet of night
and its one, lone cloud that slowly drools
fat, drippy drops of deep fed'ral blues.

The ashy, burnt taste is still in my throat;
it lingers- a dull, cloying candy cane.
The muted flavour chokes and jabs and pecks
persistently, in the back of my brain
and leaves a steel blue/gray trailing stain.

Vague memories of fourth-grade English lessons
take me with a deep sigh to forgotten thoughts
of Roger McGough and unrequited love-
dazed recollections of school poetry taught
in obscure slate-blue classrooms, littered with blots.

It seems feeling unreturned affection
isn't quite as great as I’d thought after all.
I must've been wrong, all those hazed years ago,
when I yearned to feel unrequited love’s fall,
convinced it would be a wondrous, dazzling ball

Instead, I'm just ******* in the pale-ing sky
that seems to be growing into lighter hues-
the navy’s turned to electric, to powder,
matching the sapphire in my soul of glue.
I'm suppose I'm feeling somewhat, slightly blue.

.