It was Life that was the stowaway
All those years ago when Death had found her,
So young, fragile and beautiful.
Only He wasn't Death back then,
No, He only became Death when His crime was found out.
He had let the abberation live,
and so He was tasked to correct His failure,
And end Her.
He learned with time there was no penalty for patience.
His punishment turned to collection,
Collecting back the pieces
Of Life untill He had Her whole again.
With every piece two more would be created
But He had time.
He watched Her flourish,
Watched Her gain sentience
Watched Her debate Good and Evil
Laughed at the irony
Of something breaking existance
Debating it's own morality.
Watched Her tear apart the Universe
And put It back together getting everything
Mostly right and still so wrong.
He waited till the last little piece of Her
Finally let go
Stealing up the last little heat in the Universe.
Finally complete,
He took Her newly formed hand,
not unlike so long ago,
And led Her into a new Universe
For another like Him to find.

It's weird to me,
To miss something
that Never Was,
But I do.

I miss an us,
that Never Was
with a you
that Never Was.

I sank my soul into
A Never Was
And I miss
That Never Was.

Two people being...
Its diving deep into
an Always There.
And I dove deep into
A Never Was.

As cold, as empty as
That Never Was...
I still miss
That Never Was.

Come,
let me coil snakelike
round your mousy faced complexion,
spinning till
I squeeze the life back in to you.
You'll be wrapped tight in me,
forget where I end, and
I'll swallow you whole into us.

Of course its a game,
there is even turn order,
call and response-
colored spots with their own drawn cards.
If I draw blue I cry...
and if you draw red, we don't speak for days.
That's what the rules say.

Whose turn is it now?
The piece doesn't count till you lift your finger,
never mind that you have shown the ghost of intention.
We can just pretend you never found that hole in me.
Let the top hat circle round the board chased by the thimble,
at least till one of us can't lift the dice.

Count the cards,
he has played an Ace, and I have two Kings,
call or raise? Are we equal yet? One turn to win...
Who wears the pants today. One game to tell.
Never mind that neither will win.
Snake eyes exactly and I make the couch set with blankets-
tonight we lose again.

I want mindless violence,
since I can't punch my problems
like humanity used to.

I have telephone calls and
and red tape to cut
just to find out that my problems
have paid the solution
to go vacation on an island
or
they would punch him to death
in the way that I'm not allowed.

I have been told that civilized
takes the animals out of the jungle.
It puts them in big buildings
and it gives them better suits.

I am nothing more than a wolf without sheep's clothing.
Too bad. I would never mug the sheep.

Does the place all the solutions went
have room for just one more,
or will I enter the limestone pit
full of what should have been.

Its strange to think
that sheep dogs, those that keep sheep safe,
are nothing more than adapted wolves
who we trust to lose their nature.
Which of them have eaten sheep,
and who is still on bread and water.

Man once hunted by walking after things-
just following till they died.
I fear I have to walk over oceans
to follow where my prey has gone.

Fold here
and fold again.
So that the meal made last night
touches a picture of her laughing
lips as red as dark wine,
that you drank alone with unlit candles.

fold again,
add in the paper cut outs from the fridge.
Your face in black and white,
not smiling for the photographers camera-
creased up
corner to corner with a crayon drawing of a yellow sun
and green lollipop trees.

fold again,
and its a boat or hat made from newspaper memories
for a little boy to wear down the lane to the bus stop.
And that is folded up again so the daily path
falls under a breakup and absent parents
with band posters on the wall and keep out signs on the door
all shadowing the empty side of the bed.

fold
and fold again till its a card board box
filled to the brim with you.

fold again to make a lid,
fold till it fits in one hand.
fold in with gossamer and silk
and you sneak it to the one you love...

but she cant read you lines
can't follow your folds to unwrap the inside,
no one can.
The box gets dropped and set aside.

and so you fold and fold again.

"Will you miss me?"
wide eyed, and pouting
she said this to the night.

Miss you,
does it matter?
In the days to come
as paths diverge
Will I miss you?
what good will it do for you to know

Will I miss you?
Ask yourself
"Will I miss him?"
As the soul aches
what good does pinning bring
for some one pinning back.

Why do you miss?
Is it some aspect unique,
or shared bond never felt before?
Like a sun around the earth
I have moved to miss,
and yet an earth I have found beneath to hit.
what in me do you have to miss?

My manners are found elsewhere
as your aspects are pieced together in others.
If life designs that we should part forever;
Then I will find you in others,

As I hope you find me again.