I wonder sometimes

how it's like this
And then like that
In this world

why others eyes are firmly shut
Others wide open

We see things how we want to
Not how they are

Our lenses are so fogged
So senile yet so young

Because our emotions
Are volatile and full of greed

But are those excuses enough
Knowingly or not
we killed someone's will to pull through

I want you to listen—
listen without interrupting,
without judging,
without fixing.

I want to speak without shrinking,
to explain without reaching,
to be heard—
truly heard.

I want to feel safe before I unravel,
to feel seen before I am bare.
I want to rest in your silence,
to trust in your stare.

I’d love to hug when it's over,
love to cry on your shoulder,
love to be loved—

But is that the problem?


-aPensivePoet

I rarely understand,
or, in any case,
I am the last to understand

a stream flows for the first time, trickling up from earth
air, hushed in the still of night,
then puff, a breeze

O' to witness that glorious space in time
a river magically unfolds, alive
wind, from nothing, begins to blow
a flame arises, unbidden
a universe bangs big

our hearts beat as one,
As we fall in love
for the first time

All over again.


njcoleman    march 2025

How do I smile?
How do I frown?
How do I laugh for a while?
How do I scowl?
How do I sneer?
How do I tell people how I feel?
Why don't I show people how I feel?
Why don't people understand?
My face
How do I change the look on my face?

They told me I was loved.
Said it like a fact, like a given, like air.
And I nodded, let the words settle on my skin
but never sink in.

Because love—love is hands reaching,
but understanding?
Understanding is knowing why mine pull away.

I sat in rooms full of people who swore they cared,
but no one asked why my laughter always came half a second too late,
why silence fit me like a second skin.

They called me beautiful, said I was smart,
but never saw the way I flinched at echoes of my own thoughts.
They held me when I cried, but no one ever asked
what the tears were trying to say.

I used to think I was ungrateful—
to have love but still feel lost.
But now I know:
Love can be loud, can be warm, can be everywhere—
and still not speak your language.

So if you’ve ever felt this way,
like you exist in translation,
like love is the ocean but you are still thirsty—
I need you to hear this:

You are not wrong for wanting more.
You deserve to be understood.

Understanding but
Not really feeling, the need
Others have when they
Absolutely cannot be
Without someone else around.

What do you see, nurse, when you look at me?
A frail, weary man lost in time's endless sea?
Do you sigh as you dress me, as you lift, as you feed,
Thinking my silence is nothing but need?

Do you see only hands that tremble and shake,
A mind lost in shadows, a body that breaks?
Do you see the dim eyes, the slow, shuffling gait,
A soul out of time, just awaiting its fate?

Look deeper, dear nurse, beyond this old skin,
Past the wrinkles, the frailty, the world closing in.
For once, I was young, with fire in my chest,
A heart full of dreams, unburdened, unpressed.

I was a child, with laughter so bright,
Running through fields bathed in golden-hued light.
I was a lover, my pulse racing wild,
Holding her close, love's innocent child.

I was a father, strong, steadfast, and true,
Teaching small hands what life could undo.
I built and I shaped, I gave and I grew,
Watched them all flourish, then bid them adieu.

Now time plays its tricks, and my body betrays,
Yet inside I am dancing through long-ago days.
My spirit still soars, though my body is weak,
My voice still longs for the words it can't speak.

So look at me, nurse, not as fading, not done,
Not just a burden, not just anyone.
See the years, the love, the battles, the scars,
The dreams that still shine like forgotten stars.

For within this old man, there's a soul fierce and free,
If only you'd look, if only you'd see.

The light, a fractured prism, paints a wall,
But what hues dance there, is not for all.
My eyes, a filter, stained by memory's trace,
See crimson where another finds a gentle space.
The scent of rain, to me, a promise kept,
To you, a ghost of tears, a sorrow wept.

The mountain's peak, a triumph, sharp and bold,
To those below, a story yet untold.
The river's flow, a journey, smooth and grand,
To those it floods, a vengeful, grasping hand.
A whispered word, a lover's softest plea,
To jealous ears, a sharp conspiracy.

The canvas vast, of moments spun and frayed,
Each stroke of sense, a different truth displayed.
The taste of wine, a vintage, rich and deep,
To bitter tongues, a poison they will keep.
The touch of skin, a comfort, warm and true,
To those betrayed, a wound they can't undo.

The rustling leaves, a symphony of sound,
To anxious hearts, a threat on hallowed ground.
The city's hum, a vibrant, pulsing beat,
To weary souls, a suffocating heat.
The silent stare, a gaze of pure intent,
To guilty minds, a judgment heaven-sent.

The world unfolds, a tapestry of sight,
Each thread a truth, held in a different light.
Beliefs and values, woven, tight and deep,
Shape how we see, the secrets we will keep.
A half-full glass, a beacon, shining bright,
A half-empty void, consumed by endless night.

The bridge we build, between our separate shores,
Demands a language, that forever explores.
No single map, can chart the human heart,
Each landscape shifts, and tears the world apart.
And so we ask, and listen, and explain,
To find the common ground, to ease the pain.

The silent spaces, where our visions clash,
Require the gentle touch, of understanding's flash.
To share the stories, that our senses weave,
To bridge the gaps, that time can never leave.
To build a world, where empathy can thrive,
Where different eyes, can learn to keep alive.

And in the quiet moments, when we’re alone,
We ponder the foundations, we’ve always known.
We seek the answers, in each other’s gaze,
To navigate the labyrinth, of life’s complex maze.
Though we look at things from a glass half full or half empty – perhaps the question should be - is there a glass?