My child,

As you watch your worlds get torn apart
With a malevolence you can’t comprehend,
Please do not throw yourself into the crossfire,
This is a war you cannot mend.

Their anger is too deep-rooted,
Their hurt is much too strong,
They will insist on going down fighting,
And refuse to see where they are wrong.

Find shelter from this constant storm,
Please close your eyes and ears.
They won’t listen to your pleading,
They choose not to see your tears.

Your screams won’t penetrate their spiteful resolve,
Your little voice will go unheard,
You have no choice but to be strong now;
A responsibility so undeserved.

My child, you cannot help them
As they stand firm on this battle site.
You must know this will be one of many,
There is too much wrong to put right.

If they could see how their bellowing makes you recoil,
See you cowering on your knees,
They might take heed of the damage they’re wreaking,
Reconsider this incessant, vindictive reprise.

But this road is far from ending,
So don’t exhaust your resilience here,
You must protect yourself from the barrage,
For they have not the strength to shield your fears.

It will be another long and tiresome night
As you are again dragged through this mess,
Processing all of their vicious accusations
For all that they refuse to confess.

So as you watch the two people you revere the most
Spit venom at volumes you can’t stand,
I beg you not to let it make you hateful -
This is not what they had planned.

I know how you long to fix it,
Desperate to appease their pain,
But my child, too much has already been broken,
Just please know you are not to blame.

I wish I could offer an escape route,
Tell you everything will be OK,
But there is no choice except to ride out this bitterness,
Await the dawn of a new day.

And on that day you’ll find a way to forgive them,
For destroying everything you knew as home,
For their selfishness stealing all innocence
And turning safe places into war-zones.

I want to tell him
that I’m scared,
that I’ve been here before.
And that the last time I felt potential like this it imploded;
I imploded.
But I don’t want to taint it,
You see I’m still hopeful
That maybe this time
Won’t end up laced with maybes,
Or what ifs,
Or open wounds pouring blood onto paper.
That maybe this time,
just won’t end.

I’ve not quite worked out whether I think it’s beautiful,
Or stupid -
The human capacity,
And pliancy,
And longing,
For love.

Turning, turning, turning the handle

Hoping, begging, praying Jack won't escape the box

Turning, turning, turning the handle!

Hoping, begging, praying this fear is only in my thoughts

TURNING, TURNING, CLICKITY-CLACK

WATCH OUT! MOVE AWAY! GET FAR, FAR BACK!

T U R N I N G , T U R N I N G


..............false alarm
Turning, turning, this is tiring my arm
Turning, turning, clickity-clack
Don't worry, this has happened before,
It can't possibly be ja

Traffic jam on the highway
cars stopped
one hundred percent gridlock
heat waves off the asphalt

people rushing to see relatives
holiday weekend; a few hours till they see them
two hundred engines humming
flies buzzing

five hundred people waiting
wondering what they're waiting for
waiting for their wheels to turn
waiting for someone they've never seen before

their lives inconvenienced
by a traffic jam
******* up their holiday plans

when their cars finally move
and they see what made them stop
"oh dear, look at all those cops"
and an overturned tin can of a car

telling their kids to look elsewhere
shielding their eyes from the array
of a wrecked life
of a blue tarp on the highway

Their lives inconvenienced
by a traffic jam
******* up their holiday plans

but who is beneath
the blue tarp on the ground?
nobody even thinks
about what could be found

and what a disgrace
to simply be
an inconvenience
lying in the street

because humans are heartless
whether they are young or old
when their lives are inconvenienced
by a little girl's body gone cold

and for these reasons
i pray to never, ever say,
"i wish we could hurry through this traffic
because it's ******* up my holiday."

"I think I ****** that one up,"
he said to the ghosts in the room.

We get where you're coming from

I wish I would've been looking up when the moon fell on my head.
(How rare to find a crater with these exact dimensions?)
I think I can hear an ocean's longing for the echo of a lost tide,
like a billion and one tiny grains swirling through my insides.

We get where you're coming from

No you don't.