The memories badger me
zipping in and out of
clarity
like
moths.
They echo
with your laughter,
or whimper
in your teary murmur.
For a moment,
I can see
and hear
all
the kind,
eloquent,
empty
compliments and promises
we uttered to each other
at 12 AM
in the dim light of your room.

And I want it back.

My heart
moans
and keens
in grief,
my chest
burns
like acid,
and my stomach
twists
like a towel
being wrung out,
with the
potent ache
of your absence.
Her absence;
because that
giggling,
loyal,
loving girl
is gone now.

She drowned in
a storm
of her own misery.
She was shot
by her own
baseless conclusions,
and her own
hopeless assumptions.
Life handed her lemons,
and her
naïveté
and
cynicism
shoved them
down
her
throat,
forcing her to
s
    w
         a
              l
                  l
                      o
                          w
before God made them
into lemonade.
And now,
I'm faced with
a colder,
more jaded version
of the girl I knew-
and so loved.

But the memories…

She says hellos laced with laughter
Like ice cubes in whisky
Punctuated with silence
gave it to a wolf
Because the sheep wanted not
For smoke stained lips
And embroidered skin
Drenched in sweat
And the smell of strangers
Deer running with wolves
Doe eyes hidden under
Rainbow ray bans
a world of frayed conversation
yarn that needed to be burned
A fire to cure all guitar strings
To fuse the seams of broken hearts.

Love Needs Nurture.

Even a flower
Needs a drop
Of sentiment.
Without care
It shall
Eventually wilt.

The smallest flame
Is nothing
Without a breeze.
Gone is the flicker.
End of a life,
In one foul blow.

Pop my bubble,
Steal my air.
When I am gone
I shall not care.

Love needs nurture.

First; Can we be friends?
Second; Yes, of course.
As soon as my love is dead,
I will give you a call.
We can do coffee,
One day.

Talk vehemently.
About anything.
Probably, even smile,
As we lie to each other
About not feeling
Anything at all.

It takes time
To **** the truth.
There are no skipping stones,
Or shortcuts
From the pain.

Give love time, please,
To truly wither
And die.
Become nothing
Dry, bitter
A mutual shame.

Then the putrid ash
Of a love denied,
Falls wasted
Crushed, too sodden
To ever fly.

Some time later
We say hello.
I shed a tear
And force a smile-
The only way
Was to say goodbye.

(Gerry Aldridge ©2017)

all i can do
is offer my help
though it's often rejected

i'm a friend
even if
i want to be more

(why buy the cow
when you can get the milk
for free)

only works as a
metaphor

if you believe
yourself a commodity.

I feel rosy
I am pink
With a splash of blue
My eyes are rhubarb
Dotted with iris
My dreams have been bottled
to be released on the moon
Shot through with lilac
With purple hue
My streams lay cold
brazen and brown
The love has grown old
worn down.
Moons have passed and gone by
and the tears I shed for you
are bone dry.

How do you get over the fact
that some stories are dead?
That what is left for you to do
is to play them over and over in your head?
How do you lie to yourself
when you cannot forget the truth?

How do I keep these thoughts
away from the wind?
How do I pretend
that I, too, can spread my wings
and fly no matter how heavy I feel?

This rare, watchful companion,
what is it pointing out?
A light from a distance.
It whistles and dances and then lifts me up
so I can clearly see
that what's gone is gone
and there is nowhere to go
but through that light.