Within this abattoir we sat, sank,
dreamed, drank in what little sun we could.
Eight hours we had, eight hours a week,
when our weak, frail, tender bodies could sip,
would reach, and slip, on the ***** muddy mounds we made,
to raise ourselves above the common stage.

To see it lift its head each day,
that lone rose on the hill.
we look to where the breeze escapes,
there the rose its pedals drapes.
Through the bars our cell it scrapes,
its roots, the ground to till...

For years we sought we saw,
we reach, we grasp, we claw
The delicate rose at least to hold,
our hope for beauty in this hole.
The only beauty sitting bold,
in front of this mob of beasts.

At last he grasped and pulled it close,
(that fiend, we curse his name),
he tore it from its home, its post,
to have the beauty he killed the rose,
the one and only hope disposed,
and now no hope we claim.

I woke up today
opening my eyes
to my room
I roll over
to unoccupied space
in a queen sized bed
scooting over it
and swinging my legs
off the side of the bed
onto the floor
so cold
shuffling into the bathroom
just a morning toilette
teeth brushed
vitamins taken
face washed
everything in its place
and yet still
there's something missing
confusion begins
to tickle my mind
so I hurry
ignoring the whisper
in the clutter
going into the hall
to the kitchen
for my breakfast
but its strange here too
too quiet
so cold
I grab something from the fridge
that I can eat on the way to work
hurrying away
from the silent echo
of this house
but it's just the same
when I come back
empty in its fullness
for everything I own
is in its place
perfectly arranged
like it's always been
and yet
it's still there
the emptiness
sort of like an ache
when I work out too hard
which reminds me
with purpose I go into my room
and grab my sneakers
I'm trying too hard
not to notice it
but when I sit down on the bed
I know
I know what it is
that's haunting me
an empty ghost
in a house full of me
just me
only me
alone
a single tear
the only evidence of the flood
that is closed in my throat
and I finish tying my shoes
dashing the tear from my face
with a hasty hand
that grabs the keys
closes the door
locks it
and then I run
I run hard into the street
down the sidewalk
past the neighbors
the children playing
the cars and the noise
I leave it all behind
heading for the place
that soothes me
enclosed in the trees of the park
I can think
but today
I'm not thinking
I'm feeling
feeling the hole
where my life used to be
when I was fulfilled
with what I was doing
and it was enough
but now
it's like I was cut
opened up
scooped out
left hollow
and that hollow spot
leaves an ache
that feels a lot
like loneliness
like a full house
of just me
like a made bed
with no one else in it
today I woke
to a small life
a life that is mine
and only mine
haunted by a ghost
a silent dream
and the unmade memories
of [you].

The wall I've built stands high and tall.
I don't know what to do.
Either I climb to the top,
or wait for it to fall.

Others try to save me.
But ends with failure. No success.
They walk away and never try again.
Their hope was high, but now it's less.

This wall shows no mercy.
It grins at me as I sleep.
Standing over my body
as it watches me weep.

I cry to myself again today.
Why did I build such a thing?
Why shut people out?
Why push them away?

Here I am face to face with this wall.
Staying put, can never run.
To see myself and all the mistakes
that I have ever done.

A maze stood upon high ground emerald plains
made of fire, stones and grey haze.

A dark rabbit jumped in between,
searching for food, something green.

Whoever wanted to follow this rabbit black,
should be prepared to never come back.

For he leads to a merciless place,
a gaping wound in the earth,
a space that God misplaced.

Once and again, the confusion would be the wanderer's bane
into the dark sabbath of the eleventh's hour evil plane.

Together they sown
into the ruby glen
of soul's deep beyond
inside one's own.

Whatever they did, it was all in twain
in the midst of those shadow lanes
struggled they did in vain.

The fake blank faces all grew in disdain,
frowning ever so slightly upon the evil king's reign.

In the dark, in the nothingness, they got lost.
Forever forgotten in what they loved the most.

while age is only a number,
experience is a set of volumes.

you, thanks to time and genetics,
have overflowing shelves.
you've done it all.
a house of your own.
a car of your own.
a cat.
a rose garden.
(are you gay?)
nieces, nephews.
unfixed income.
"making it."
how can i be so proud of you?
it's hardly been 4 months
since
i ran into you in the doorway
of the bar
trying to make my exit unnoticed
as i had avoided you not one hour before.
knowing one of us would have to say "hi" first.


but that was then.
now is this.

this
this
this dull glow
that never leaves my heart.
someone's always stoking the fire.
your shift starts
now.