three blue candles in a row
where she knew she shouldn’t go
in a room of closed desire
smoke now circles ever higher
lying thoughtlessly has crept
promises have not been kept
but she does not care somehow
in the feeling she has now
for the burning justifies
broken vows and sequent lies
as she bobs her pliant head
three blue candles by the bed
pretend again for me
pretend again for you
it didn’t need to end
the false can still be true
the days before the the lies were known
they form a sort of schism;
we’re trapped within the colored bars
that constitute
our prism
[it’s all pretend… owen]
I promised her the hills and sky,
I promised her all this —
But one small word of truth means more
Than worlds of
Hollowness
[Originally published 12-17-2015]
The winter highway calls me home
To where my love lies sleeping;
For I have carried secrets long,
Far past their time for keeping
The many roads I’ve driven on
Are fading, as the light
Comes timid with the nascent dawn;
I see an end to night
How many habits must I break?
How many lies be spoken?
The time is now for me to take
And fix all that I’ve broken
The winter highway calls me home
To where my love lies sleeping;
For I have carried secrets long,
Far past their time for keeping
The sun sets on the standing stones.
The clouds, the moon, the stars still move in track.
The widsom that I seek seems out of reach,
And questioners and doubters, still catch flack
Especially from those who pose as questioners.
These hunt down searchers with great indignation:
Returning then to palaces of folly
In orgasms of self-congratulation
Now, seeming self-assured
We disappear, immured;
‘Mid walls that hold the toxins from
Which we cannot be cured
A world kept under wraps:
Each hidden lie and lapse —
For much we think we want, we dont,
And castles can
Be traps
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
“Competitions”
