MOURNINGS


It is always like this:
waking to a sunless
morning, to a silence
pervading
except for the whir
of the fan nearby.

The pen will lie untouched
on the bedside table,
for I had tried forcing
out words
only to stain the page
with lines, shallow

unfelt,

for I do not know
how to feel.

Or so you said
in the night,
while darkness bled
through my window--

and the text message
that just came in
will remain
unopened,
while your voice instead

eats away slowly
at my brain,
echoing:

yes, i am  insensitive,
self-centered, i’ll give
you that,

anything you want.
Yes, i am
mourning dreams
tasting your words
of salt water
on my tongue.

It is always like this.

I think at early age i saw the truth and its harsh light.
The dreamer was a sweet idea  the  reallity  a cold *******.
The poets to weak often found comfort in there vices.

The  washed up often found a finale page in there brains being splattred  across the room.
And the wise often found themselves wanting foolish
things.

Love it was a word often used and seldom felt.
It was that  fix down  Church street   it was a score for a moment a regret at best.

Love i hate it's existance it was the mirage that I saw in a cool nights fog
It called me once and killed me slowley one bad choice at a time.

Im not saying the young couple in passion is a time bomb  waitting to
turn into a  disaster at any second.
Im just saying it wouldnt catch me in it's aftermath.

The washed up thought it made them immortal.
The dreamers thought of it as air.
And the wise were to busy avoiding it at all cost's.

But the broken saw it as paper sailboat  caught in a storms drain.
I remeber her well.

I'm losin' some snoozin'
From ongoing bongoing...

The scene of the accident, folks all standing around.
Everybody's cell phone out , must text this now.
Post this on Facebook, got to Tweet my friends.
Someone is reading this text while driving
and BANG...it starts all over again!
Couples don't gaze into each others eyes
while in a restaurant  no they are texting with one hand, what the hell is wrong?
For a world that objects to invasion of their privacy,
like the security check for a plane seat,
Yet we see more of them  then need to see
every time they Tweet!

Never have my eyes
Seen so much sadness.
Never have these eyes
Seen so deeply into
An enigma of finesse.

Your bones are of silver,
Destructive yet divine.
Your strength from a father,
Your safety aligned.
Your blood is of iron,
The veins are now rusted.
But your heart is still running,
With love now entrusted.

An infant of ignorance,
A child of sorrow.
The young man of dreams,
Your hopes for tomorrow.
A meeting of chance, the southside and diner
Such an innocent way,
For love to acquire.

But now the leaves have gone missing,
The trees, filled with death
Have blocked out the sunshine,
And pierced the pearls chest.
The young man of dreams
With the cracked pearl in heart,
Looks into the mountain
And screams in the dark.

But the fire never fades, and the heart, still pumping
Flows fast and determined,
To keep them from crumpling.
The pearl cries softly, trapped in her mind.
But strong hands protect her
And kind words breathe, “time”.

The white snowfall stops twice,
The sweet spring sings again,
And again.
The long summer rains for two.
But only once does the autumn wind,
Bring October to its end.

A young man of dreams,
With the pearl in his hands,
An inevitable season,
With freedoms demand.
Together, finale,
The pearl is released.
And over the mountain they kiss,
Forever in peace.
_

'08

My first word was “scared”
Not because it was taught to me
But because it was all
I knew
I was taught the word
“Emaciated”
But I wasn’t told what it meant
I just knew
Because it was all
I was
I learned to count
By counting the ribs through
My starved skin
While they were counting guns
Ammunition…

This world is frightening
And I’ve been thrown in
And no one cares
All they can do
Is run headlines of poor Darfur
On TVs of people who don’t watch…

After I finished counting my ribs
I counted each relative who died
I couldn’t count high enough
And I lost track
And then when I finally died
All they did was post my picture
On the internet
While the ones who killed me run free
Counting their ammunition
But never the targets they hit