Futility

If words were enough
motionless they would be too small
I can never reach you
my essence washed away in morning light
with ebbing tides
I will never penetrate your
soul
the map to your heart
is penned with phantom ink
all that lies before me
this blank page
your memory permanently stained
with thoughts of her
never to be erased
your eyes are dull
with the disease of longing
as you slowly waste away
Your ears have already
tuned me out
static fills the silence
of your daily frequency
You do not allow me to enter
this world
where you are drowning
in this drought.
My tears alone could
saturate your soul
drink of me
I promise
I will never let you drown.

All the words she never spoke could fill volumes..but once written down they are unspoken no more. What is the point then? Do we let the secrets of the heart spill out not caring who might happen to read them? Do we name names and places, leaving ourselves open to scrutiny and vulnerability? The words remain unspoken, unwritten..that way they do not exist, they cannot cause fear or pain..they can only torment from within.

diagnosis:betrayal

it isn't right to play
diagnostician
when you don't have the degree
to back up the advice
which you carelessly toss out
your experience doesn't make
you an expert
your circumstances don't fit
everyone's mold
I am not some psychological experiment
not shedding skin for you
pulling armor and sweater tightly
over bare flesh
naked no more
getting off this couch you've
laid me out on
our 50 minute hour
is over.

The Garden

The garden you planted
was ripe with promise, possibility
as you carefully placed seedlings into soil
making sure there was just enough space
between each to allow the chance to grow.
Your long hours of nurturing paid off
in early spring when the first blossoms began to show.
By summer you had a dazzling plot
of brilliant colors, tiny petal-faces
beaming up at the sun.
The first few years you tenderly
cared for your garden,
spending hours weeding out unwanted invaders,
cutting back to give shape, pruning to rejuvenate..
you were filled with pride and love
gazing upon the fruit of your labor.
Then the storms came blowing through
and in a hasty effort to retreat from the relentless
pounding of rain beating down upon your back
you rushed out of the garden,
trampling your most beautiful flower.
The flower was strong enough to survive the storm
it endured the harsh winds and rain..
now it rests with hopeful petal-face
against the dirt waiting for you
to come back, stand it upright
pack fresh soil around it,
keep it propped up straight,
until it's strong enough to stand alone,
once again vibrant, radiating life.
directly due south the sun is blazing brightly,
air filled with the smell of fresh manure & compost
stakes laid out & perimeter secured
a new Eden planned
while petal-face slowly whithers away
in soil drenched by tears.

Ghost of existence

I have wrapped my fear around me
like a tattered thrift store blanket
restless as the sea

I pace upon stripped wooden floors
while darkened corners
hide thick layers of dust
which have settled,
coming to rest on yesterday's
hopes and dreams
after a brief dance through sunlight.

Scraps carelessly tossed in my direction
are not enough sustenance
for inevitable daily wars.
Honeyed fallacies are whispered
in darkened rooms
where questions are sung to sleep
answers lie hidden somewhere in the chorus.
I refrain from drowning in your agony
that sticky sweet betrayal..

The light has prematurely faded
solar eclipse seen from pebbled courtyard
as a chill flows through the air.

Inside neither walls,
nor roof or windows
can keep out this storm.
Rooms on fire, bed is burning
still this house can't keep me warm.

Footsteps on the stairs
always walking away..
I remain shrouded in silence,
curator of your museum of artifice
dissapearing in the doorway
of regret.

A faceless, flowing dress
of rounded curves and plains
honey washed away with daybreak
bitterness all that remains
in this rain soaked Eden.

Unleash the rivers,
let rivulets stream forth
as tears fall from weary eyes..
your words linger, scars carved into my soul.

A prophecy spelled out
with impending spilling of ink
upon this parchment
certainty of 'the end'
while silent scars remain hidden
behind glassy eyes
never to be revealed.

black is the night
cold is the day
heart of stone
slowly chiseled away
no hope in sight
not here nor there
not anywhere
ancient voices call her name
ghosts of memory
long walk of shame
walk away from the light
never as bright as that star in the sky
painfully give up the fight
slipping away
into oblivion
no one noticed
no one heard
silent
scream
or phantom fists
upon a chest
it's a gray day and a black night
nothing left to invest
i am
going
under
ground.