"Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn."
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]
(or “Old Poem, Written Age 18”)
We live in a world full of false attribution,
Where people smear filth and then call it ablution;
Where lies are the most common type of pollution,
And all that gets over are cheaters and cons —
We breathe in the air of congenital aping,
Our souls full of holes that are growing and gaping
While no word of truth from our lips is escaping,
Misleading our brothers and sisters, our pawns —
We die in this place of eternal damnation
Without ever knowing we’re needing salvation;
And wait till the last to feel our consternation,
And only then claiming our crimes to forswear —
We’re buried with all that is totally rotten,
And sooner than later, we’re all but forgotten,
And wrapped in our silks or our nylon or cotton
We still try to speak, but we don’t have a prayer
There are some, and this is one.
The things that I remember are
Far better than the truth;
I find these nonexistent clues
Like some great pseudo-sleuth
I make a past that never was
From castles in my mind;
While yet the boy I really was
Gets farther left
Behind
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
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”
[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
We all believe the lies
When they’re repeated oft enough —
We think we are immune;
We think we recognize fake stuff —
But I’m not sure at all,
I’ve made mistakes, I bear the welts —
We fool ourselves, so tell me now:
Why couldn’t
Someone else?
