Life is the accumulation of our many sores
Tallies of the ones we crush to be one getting more
Finding ways to validate the fact we’re choosing war
A petty game of catch the flag – we all have losing scores



Where lips have parted in dismay
For waning words of “Come what may”
Have left us both in disarray

Where hands hang in confusion
Lost between thoughts of allusion
Torn away from their illusion

Where eyes shift fast and fleeting
From the impulse of the meeting
That fell fast from friendly greeting

Where thoughts have failed to filter
Through the heartstrings hell has pilfered
Do we stumble, so bewildered


I see you clash in contrast with the eve
Lines of ivory
Crests upon the seas
Bold as if the moon in full reflection
Holding firm, a statue of perfection
Wresting from the breeze
Vines of finery
Rising up to lash me to your leaves
Time is binding me
Tests of what could be
Holding you as faith and full affection


I thought that I could lead you
Far beyond the sunlit hills
Through the sprawling plains
And finally to a forest of my darkness

I failed to move so quickly
We stopped and watched the sunrise
I slowed in consternation
Fearful of our destination

I knew I couldn’t take you
Where limbs and brambles tangle
And crickets hold their tongues
Where foliage is not kissed by the sun

I painted it with simple words
But knew them to be softened
Rubbed in scents of stolen roses
Anything to mask what was beyond

Perhaps I thought it best to rest
And hold you in the sunset
And cherish all the what-could-be’s
And set aside what-could-not

At least until tomorrow…


Let’s take a stroll
Replace the hole
Within the soul
And make it whole

As if a shoal
Toward a goal
Beyond the toll
Beyond the droll

Where songs would lull
And calm console
What pain has stole
But can’t control

And so the coal
Has served its role
Our eyes extol
What hopes enroll


The eerie calm of empty rooms
Devoid of all discussion
The solace of your absence soon
Removes the old disruption

My heart a pyre of monsoons
That feasts upon assumption
Words are naught but acrid fumes
They scorch the hand that touches

The growing chill of bated breath
Now tainted with compunction
Piled high, a mound of death
The paintbrush of destruction

My tongue a worm of cold caress
That only seeks a function
How could you ever see me less
This form made of corruption


The pushing and the pulling
The fires that are lit
The scraping and the crushing
The bottom of this pit
The crying and the pleading
The asking, “Is this it?”
The loss of all believing
The fear that I must quit
The knowing that you’re leaving
The pain from when we split
The lack of ever knowing
The rooms that aren’t lit
The gnawing that keeps growing
The choice to not remit
The sadness of me knowing
The pain that I permit