When writing out who you're thankful for,
So many names come to mind.
It's so ironic that it starts to hurt to realize,
Who stays in your reality,
And what a dream world this would be,
If in the same moment,
You also come to know the pain of those who promised yet never fulfilled those sacred words.
"I'll never leave you if you never leave me."
No wonder I felt like life never made progress forward.
It's been a few winters,
But I've see the holy ministry gather with my eyes in their gaze and silent whispers,
It's all about regret and wishes,
With a soulless daughter being passed around without permission,
And a son who can't see the sunrise for his future is as barren as his once bountiful mission.
I have seen the world inside of a man lost in depression,
This obstruction of feelings,
Choking seconds before air rushes in,
Like an ache for the next season before the snow crashes in my home,
And yet the phone continues to ring,
With the sound of heaven alone,
Like I've always been asking for my baby to sing,
35 floors and you could only jump from the second.
Captivating,
What your eyes used to see the world for became the poison you doused me with and I still blame myself for the death of not only my mother, but the funeral dragged down by eulogies from those who never saw her face when she knew her child must live without her.
For what prayers did you hold my name in while holding another?
For what prayers did that man give to see his reflection to know he existed as more than a passer by.
John Wayne novels always had November as the casting call,
I'm still wide awake writing my dedication,
And yet I'd rather have the silence of myself than the willingness of those who will walk out onto the plank and drown themselves in themselves.
They never turn back until they need you to save them.
This future between the sailor and his father,
That bait,
Raising a man into a child,
Recluse.
Venomously,
Each word we wrote to the sky.
I wonder if anyone else connected eyes the way we did.
And by we I mean me and my reflection.
It's the only thing left that stays with me when I'm ready.
Anyone who tells you to buy beauty forgot what you looked like.
It's always 1984,
Burning our house away before I even had the love to long for everything that was missing.
We miss one,
We miss everyone.
We miss the sunset.
We lose one.
We lose all.
I lose myself in the idea of losing everything,
And I lose everything when I lose you.
This poem is the poem I'm planning to use to try and get my name known. If you could just leave a comment or a like for it, just so I know people are at least noticing, that'd be awesome.
