The Picture Clear

Sometimes we paint the picture clear;
The days of winter love and joy —
But others know a different truth:
The lonely girl, or lonesome boy

Who wear the mask of perfect lies
From our encyclopedia
That we the outside world will show
By means of social media.

The truth is mixed, it’s good and bad –
But we don’t share the story —
Instead we manufacture words
And hide amid the glory

Of thinking that we’ve won at life.
We stow away admissions,
And take an empty sort of pride
In winning

Speak lightly then of grief.

Speak lightly then of grief, and careful tread;
For many secrets known are borne alone,
And far within belief, the honored dead
Must make their way, but never leave our home.

Do you the secret know that dulls this pain?
Have you the words of wisdom few have seen
That sprinkles anesthetic on the soul
Of those whose world is torn, whose minds careen?

I say you don’t; I say nobody does
Of those of us who claim the mortal veil;
There’s many hearts gone deeper than we know,
In songs of grief as wondrous as the whale.

    Speak lightly then of those whose heads are bowed,
    And seek only to love – not play the crowd


Eyes closed, it’s spring.
They’re laughing, and you and I
Are sharing the wry looks of young
Parents wondering how they’ll manage
All of this chaos

Eyes open, we’re here:
They’ve all grown, and gone, and you and I
Are sharing the spare looks of old
Parents wondering how’ll they’ll manage
All of this silence

“Parents” – 12/18/2016

To Naught

I’ve seen the truth that’s found in love’s intent;
I’ve known how light the load can be to care —
And yet I see the time I have misspent
And squandered chasing shadows that weren’t there.
The love I kept that I was meant to share –
The offers spurned till I was more at ease —
That now have turned to naught but memories

Lights Down

My eyes have failed me long, I know.
And Christmas trees have been a blur
Should I not have my glasses on
And sometimes, when I do —

But still: I turn the lights down, and
I sit in wonder of it all.
The memories of what has gone
Just know to me or you —

So many that pass silently,
So much that goes unsaid:
I look into the lights and know
My eyes are turning red

With what I couldn’t stop
Or save, or fix;
With all I had
My stupid bag
Of tricks