The Cowboy of Her Dreams

… isn’t here […]

The man she fell in love with isn’t here
That man was only ever in her head
Yet in her shock and sorrow, and her fear
She’ll clutch on some to imagery, instead

She’d found herself a hero, so she thought
With strength and sensitivity in one
But it’s a rescue mission that she bought
That’s run its course, whose time is nearly done

The cowboy in the sunset of her heart
She gave herself to, every hair and urge
But who and where is he, is worlds apart
As dreams and cruel reality

The Letters

That person that you give yourself completely …

That person that you give yourself
Completely, everything you are –
Who gives you back what you have sent
And says it’s not enough

The letters now up on a shelf
The minutes, miles, traveled far –
The life of love that came and went
The days are rough, the nights are tough

When everything you gave
Is not enough

the truth behind it all

the day we split up for good

i handed you my crafted words,
rich and full of meaning;
but by the time they touched you,
they were poor and hollow.

you reached out to me with a special touch,
warm and full of understanding;
but by the time it reached me,
it was cold and full of judgment.

our conscious intentions were good, i think;
but truth is not only sublime
it is, apparently,

Before the Truth

I don’t think she wants to know the truth…

I don’t think she wants to know the truth
Like a loaded pistol in his hand
Everything she worked so hard to build
Crumbling around like so much sand

So she tries to vainly turn away
And against the truth her ears to seal
Thinking, like the girl that she was once
If she doesn’t hear it, it’s not real

What Must Be Said

So I don’t want to think it anymore…

So I don’t want to think it anymore.
And I don’t want to say what must be said –
For nothing ever will be as before,
There’s no more watering a plant that’s dead

You went to where you felt you had to be.
For I was not enough for you to flaunt:
And so you found someone who was not me;
A job that, daily, fewer people want

I’ve reached the edge of language in my course,
It’s time to pack it in and end the show;
I cannot sing some song of ‘sweet remorse’,
To try to leave with pride
Is all
I know


For years, she loved them.

For years, she loved her cornflakes, till
One day, she didn’t want them:
She told him it was over, but
He still could be her friend

He pondered all of this, and saw,
Upon deliberation,
That he was just a bowl of soggy cornflakes
In the end


She told him he must fight for her.

She told him he must fight for her,
But that he would not do.
He said, “You know I want you;
I need you to want me, too.

And if you don’t, that’s fine;
Just go ahead, and be with him.”
And she said, “Yeah, whatever.
Hit the bricks, man. What a wimp.”

I heard what they both said, but
I cannot tell who is right.
Still, isn’t it old-fashioned
To expect us men to fight?