Every morning,
I push out
my love for you,
push it beyond my reach,
until I can no longer feel it.
Every night,
I see it standing in the field
and
hear it coming through the cracks,
closing in for another
suffocated sleep.
Tag: pain
Touchstone Tuesday: Poem XVIII
Blood,
fire,
grief,
I did this for you.
Wordsmith Wednesday: Poem XXI
I can’t
deny
having known you;
we have
the same
pattern
of
stitches.
Peace
You always
look for peace
in me,
like a gambler
places
another
bet,
certain that
this,
this will be the time,
that hope
outwits
your odds.
On Grief
Of course,
we suffer agony
when we lose someone;
how can you not,
when something
crawls out of your heart,
tears through your chest,
and sinks, blood-soaked,
into the soft earth?
Touchstone Tuesday: Poem XII
Music is a formed space
and lyrics, the beaten door,
when I hear a song played
I’m thrown onto its floor.
And, without authority,
I’m made to recall,
where I was and what I felt
when I first was made to fall.
Thrown back into the room
where my olden thoughts were sketched,
turned about by dancing memories,
I fell forward and I retched.
On Fire
But how
can you
put fire
in my veins
and tell me
you don’t like
the smell
of smoke?
Painful Paradox
We’re creatures
so paradoxically made
that we need
pain
dishealth
and heartbreak
to compel us
into self-discipline,
consequences so
grave and horrifying
that we
almost reach out
to good behavior.
Imagine a beast
so depraved
that it cannot
even act
in its own
favor.
Firestone Friday: Poem XII
I think we’re drawn
into cold, unilluminated humans
because we believe there is
— there has to be —
something greater
unseen beyond
that shadowy veil,
something
inestimable,
protected,
inaccessible.
So, our imaginations
run unchained:
the more unyielding
the object of desire,
the more alluring,
the more opulent,
we fashion the world
that must flourish within them.
And we scale the walls,
taking daily pains
to climb a little farther,
until we crest the edge,
only to find a flickering street lamp
suspended above a littered lot,
with Sadism leaned up against a rusted barrel,
taking a long drag of her cigarette
and picking at old scabs.
Firestone Friday: Poem XI
Without your touch,
I forget my place.
And I find my world barren
absent your embrace.
Without you, I am lonely
with a loneliness that kills.
But with you, darling,
I’m lonelier still.
Faith, Health, and Other Musings 