And with one single flicker a warmth was felt.
As it lit and swayed around I swirled in thought.
How can something so small define in mirror image,
what I've tried to say so many times.
I becoming like the wick surrounded by depth.
Lost at sea without so much as a barge to rest my head against.
With you becoming my single barge of refuge.
All thoughts of despair and lack of faith disappeared when I bumped my head against your strength.
The fragrance of the way you soothed without so much as a word.
The city lights never shined as bright. Nor have I had reason to want to stay put until you showed me
how much strength I had in myself.
The barge of clear glass that surrounds us.
Stained by the scars of who we use to be, we constantly sink.
Discovering depth over by the far side of the fire that slowly descends. Devouring the wick.
If ever this fire should burn out shall we truly find out what it is to grieve

The Scream

All my prayers have gone unanswered.
All my pleas have gone unheard.
The demons from you past have found you.
They take bites from your flesh.
You do not notice the damage.
All I can do is watch.
What separates us is too vast
I scream to draw their attention
I call on them to attack me
They laugh at my helplessness, my sorrow
I scream because I don't know what else to do
I scream because I love you
I scream because I'm scared
Terrified of losing you
Because we are good together
And that frightens you
I can't turn away, can't avert my gaze
I reach out for you, thinking that somehow
Maybe I can pull you to safety or least close enough to protect
I scream for you
I die for you
You think the demons are your friends
You turn away, you laugh as they consume you
And still I cannot turn away
I scream for you to remember
I scream
I scream
I scream
Through tears I scream
I scream for you
Because my prayers have gone unanswered
My pleas have gone unheard.
I have failed you
I scream that I love you
I scream
Until all there is, is my scream

3/25/16
Jonathan Parker Bryant

We see words lined up pretty,
spelling out sorrow.
Like beautiful crying ladies
we want to help
but also want to touch.
I never know when or how
to express that I am here for a poet.
Love, is it ever just a poem to you?
Or do you actually mean to slit your wrists?
Is writing the only way you escape?
Should I stop and whisper empathy
or should we just continue
to admire
each other's talent?