Truth – No Talent For Certainty

The winter highway calls me home…

[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

Repeated Lies

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?

confidence, that thief

back here, how strange it is, the heart is sore,
as memories like lies, and sons of lies
touch cold bare feet onto a frozen floor
beneath a ghost they sought to idolize

how comforting – the fault was never owned:
there need be nothing learned or set away
or carried into bright and awkward day
from pedestals where they have lived, enthroned

and stories, like a hive, are built and set:
the never-happened, covering regret
encapsulates, and keeps the real world out,
so progress can be stopped, along with doubt.

the old clock ticks, and day soon swallows night,
and never-can-be-wrong is never right

Beautiful, Sad

i see it as i wander by…

the world is beautiful and sad,

i see it as i wander by;

the good things that we want – so bad –

our reason – just an alibi –

the aching heart will know no peace;

the tired soul will find no rest —

the world is beautiful, but sad:

our worst is so mixed up in

all our best

The Sun Sets on the Standing Stones

The widsom that I seek seems out of reach.

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

Verissime

now you know

why every color

matters

Imperfect Love (A True Story)

Imperfect love was perfect for them.
He recalls their wedding day —
Radiant in joy and sunshine,
Always, in his mind, that way

Never in a hundred lifetimes
Could he ever have foreseen
That she would be taken from him;
Left to celebrate and keen

For a ghost he longs for nightly,
Loneliest of earthly men;
Dreaming of imperfect love that
He will never find
Again

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