I haven't been a part of life for more years than I wish to count. It's the absence in the moments I've seen long ago, the scenes I once clung so desperately to belong to. The abstraction in my memories say I was once there, but the irregularities in my heart rationalize the doubt and assure me that wishful thinking was the only memory that occurred. The particularities of this symptom- if it could be called that- are quite strange. It happens so rapidly, I hardly pay it any mind; but if my mind wanders, the old theater in my brain plays a reel. The imagined scenes are portrayed on screen and I can see myself within them.

Happy... sad, maybe.

It makes no difference. The mood of the filming is enough to make the heart start an analysis. I'll feel a tug or two at my heart and wonder where I ever got this silly notion. It's odd and a little depressing, but it only makes me wonder- where was I and why did I think this happen? Some days, I think I have the answer.

It's only longing.

© 2013

Woe to my
Perfect gray sky

My baby’s locked down in the basement
Yearning for its mother’s arms
Mother’s gone and misplaced him

Broken by the discard pile

Perfect gray sky
And pretty flowers gone

My best friend has gotten awful chilly
Laying down so blue and pale
Too far to see where she was swimming

Sunk down and deeply inhaled

And pretty flowers gone
All I wanted

My dear husband has gone missing
Replaced with a simple note
“I will not come back for my sweeter things…

My body hangs from the rope.”

All I ever wanted
To never be alone

© 2013

The messages on the machine grow higher every minute
Kind and murderous regret seeps out of every ***** hole.
It was the love she wanted, something solid that could crumbled over.
Falling down to grounds untouched, none can build what they can’t reach.
The confusion that binds the air is untapped nitrogen, louder than
Ignition enticed passion with gratification marked on the words of a doubter.

The mailbox seems bigger every step out to out bind the air that cripples.
Bills collected and paid off prompt, aside from love threats from irate lover.
It was the love he wanted, something timid that would cross him over.
Break the will of destruction, **** it, feed it to make fool of the other side that was waiting
Behind the skin of the shadows breeds the intellect nigh cruel for a straitjacket cover.

The nails that tear off skin in nights of fighting with the grin of gleeful faces
And the tangling is a convincing dance, whether or not it’s consuming their sin.
Bare brinks of those fluorescent halos twisting about these sheets, writhing
For a broken whisper for when a truth is only wishful deceit- she wills to another
Lover, same faced and movements but calloused in the bodies of tormented temptation.

There was a time these words had meaning, over time they lose clarity and gain insight
To a negative double standing that bruises walls and flesh all the same.
They’ve lasted enough to know conniptions flared either silent or through second guessing
But see how nothing’s learned without pushing the limits of another youthful lesson.
She couldn’t listen to the sounds echoing outside this ‘precisionist’ prison holding in
So he wouldn’t utter truthful pieces she couldn’t see to break the shackles she had brought from the past.

© 2012

In the meadow comes a quiet
Where your eyes speak out of turn
My silent grip is painfully tight
But letting go is none your concern
Given space
It exists too much for us between
When the closer that we become
The farther away we are to dream
And it hurts, leaving self within the void
Know the one you love is somewhere
In me, the holder tonight you must let go
Wait no longer

And I am feathered by the moonlight
Open your wings when you speak
We fly forever southward
As these kisses begin to sting
And I slowly drift from you farther
Leave the trees to embrace my fall
And I’ll be nestled in the forest
If for me you’ll search at all

My eyes follow the broken branches
Of my love within the fall sky
Soon covered by the frosty mist
Of a listless winter call
For you; Out there
Spring in the meadow’s glade
Cocoon in summer nights
Of waiting alone this year
Where my fleeting restitution lies

And I am tattered by the moonlight
Broken wings will never speak
I walk the forest ground southward
As your voice begins to sing
And I slowly walk farther away
Restless fingers weave through this all
And I’ll be hiding these feelings from you
Until out to me you yearn to call.

© 2012