You think about it all the time,
But never have you said
The weight you carry in your heart,
The words within your head —
But in the morning, hard and gray,
You’ve known these secret pains
Then covered up the traces,
All the bruises and the stains.
To all the world you’ve shown a face
You’ve painted on for show,
But that’s become habitual;
Now, everywhere you go,
You just display the sunlight.
You’re a beacon mid the rains,
And no one sees the leakage,
Or the bleeding, or the stains.
It doesn’t matter anyway.
You know that’s how you think —
And when you seem on edge, I know
You’re really on the brink —
Why is it that you won’t come clean?
There really is no knowing,
But maybe you’ll see hope to know
Your stains at last
In the fading light of tomorrow,
Every wish gets weighed with great precision
On the edge of the lonely island,
Where the river fluxes into indecision
And I wander along the cliffside,
Hoping to find a sign to use, or borrow —
But there’s nothing but gold, and rhythm,
In the fading light of what’s left of one
I sat and watched the burning ones.
They came in twos and threes:
The night was their intoxicant,
And ardor, their disease —
I see them, too, in memory,
They’re everywhere about —
For when you are a burning one,
You’re destined to
Some people say that where they are
Is where they’re meant to be;
For years, I never understood –
Those comments puzzled me
Sometimes, you’re down and desperate,
As I was, long ago:
I saw no reason at the time
Why it needs must be so
For almost thirty years ago
I tried to end my life;
I never would have known my kids
My grandchildren, my wife –
I never would have typed these words
That you are reading now;
I would have been a nobody,
A nothing. A no how —
I couldn’t find a reason,
Couldn’t generate a spark
To see me through the nightscape;
Through the hopeless, whirling dark
But somehow, day led on to day;
And I regained my voice.
Then I decided living
Was my only living choice
I do not know where you might be,
How your life’s filled with pain;
I do not know the grief you’ve felt,
And that, I will not feign —
But this I tell you, reading friend:
There is, most times, a light:
So you can climb the hill ahead,
(“Nightscape” – 7-1-2015)
let not hope disappear
though chill be in the air:
the winter may be here,
but the garden is
How do you breathe a magic sky
And touch the lights of Halcyon?
For what is Love to you but paint
That smears and drips across the Dawn?
Come whisper now of Wednesday hope,
Of glistening and glimmering,
Come feel the cotton, silk, and rest
While fireflies are shimmering
How do you hold the infinite,
When much that was has broken wrong?
Exhale the colors of your hope,
Extend yourself, for you
She lays her head to rest, because she must.
In visions, winter carries her away:
To icy ballrooms, floors of sparkle-dust,
And lovers dancing. Hair in disarray,
She spins across a crystal wonderland,
A prince whose shining face she can’t quite see —
Her tired head laid still across her hand,
And aching dreams her life at apogee.