There is an emptiness at night
That morning’s never seen:
The throbbing pain of words we say
But do not really mean.
There is a slope, a precipice,
And safety is so fleeting —
I wish I was a tourniquet
So I could stop the bleeding —
But gnawing at my very soul
And eating of my ghost
Is all that I have said and done
To those I love the most.
So tell me now, you empty room:
What all is next to follow?
And how can guilt so fill me whole
And yet I feel
So hollow?
A boy and his mother, slowly walking
Kids voices behind them, indistinct
His head down, she reaches out to stroke his hair
He says to her, as they reach the car,
“I’m not good at sports.”
Stopping beside the car,
She looks at him, this little man (he’s become)
And says, “Sure, you are.”
“No, I’m not. I’m the slowest in my class.
I’m not, mom. I’m just not.”
And she knew, she’d always known, the day would come
When all the loving lies that parents tell
About how children can do anything, be anyone,
Would meet reality, that big, blank wall
That tells their child,
“You can go no further.”
And even though he has many, other talents,
She knows how soon he’ll forget this day, and this feeling,
Which is
Never
o let that one day not go past
that she should once more sorrowed be;
o please, if i could take that weight,
provide to her self-clemency —
i would. the heart that knows no law
believes: it reaches out in pain
to touch in healing whom it loves,
and tries to soothe in all times and
in vain
I woke. My people turned to trees.
Then wondered, if I had the chance
Could I, too, with the cold winds learn
to dance?
It is the grove that gives us life.
The sun, the soil that we share,
The tears of those who watch o’erhead,
their left-by mulch, subconsciously aware —
I sleep; my people growing tall.
Now am I just too fast to feel
The slower dance that’s only dreamed,
but far more
real?
Once, there was a girl,
Who was a person, not a picture —
And anywhere she ventured to,
My heart would also go —
But time brought days, and days revealed
The cracks in our foundation:
For whether you “find out” or not,
Eventually, you know —
Like rain upon a lake,
Our passive, commonplace,
And simple failed attempt,
Has vanished, without trace,
Except —
Today I feel the ache
Begin to slowly worsen
When someone who you loved becomes
A picture,
Not a person
You have this dream, that she’ll be there
At dinnertime tonight
And, if you make it perfect
Everything will be alright
But flowers cannot fix it
Cannot make this dream come true:
Don’t worry friend, she’ll smile again —
But it won’t be
With you
This place is warm and feels like home,
Each thing reminds me of her;
I have a special privilege –
It is my job to love her
The last few days, I’ve had a cold,
She had one just last week;
The autumn season juggernaut’s
Left little time to speak
But I go in the other room,
She’s reading in our bed;
My voice is shot right now; but there’s
Not much that needs be said
There’s cold and dusk out of these doors,
The day’s last light will perish:
I have a special privilege –
For she is mine
To cherish
She gave to him a stained-glass love
That looked so good in light so pure,
But that turned cold within the dark
And closing of the door.
But other men still envy him
The beauty he resides within;
But they don’t the love he knows
That involves neither heart
Nor skin
