the Thunder

thunder comes up over the hollow and lays down in the street

circles my yard and peaks at my feet

I try to wake my loved one to make her aware

then I realize that beside me she lays…rumpled here and there

to stay at home or not

no matter… the thunder rounds herself up

she will always be near

Panicked to be Free

I stagger around in my thoughts…as if an open book

as if a locked attic with no key and skeletons that wish to be free

My panic sets in whether day or night

In small snippets I remember the daffodils, the farmland, the rebirth, the light

In small, form fit spaces…this is where the head and the heart fight

I assume nature is alarmed, possibly having already panicked years before

Perhaps, the reason for a locked attic door

Pain…

…condensed in the snow…as dark and sorrowful as the northern wind will blow…

…only the truth of distrust lies in the shadows…distant as a mother’s touch…

…pain knows I am a fool…no one understands this…better than I do…

…this discomfort…the blink of an icy pond…no longer lingered upon…

…agony taunts me…reminds me of who I used to be…

…pain is a constantly unraveling thread to the tapestry of my soul…

The Cast of Pain

the Mills, Franklin NH

Don’t want to walk through the pain.

But the want…

and

the need…

are not the same.

There is no religion to the agony.

There is no need for the ache’s shame.

Suppose…

only the want remains.

Only remains a cast of shadow in the day.

The day I stop…

walking through the pain.

Pine and Oak

I look and lock down these stairs to the catacombs.

I understand as a stumble, there will never be freedom.

The intertwined pine and oak…lamented before me alludes to a place ‘never to be.’

Hatred and swinging leather belts.

Love mixed with skin pelts.

I write shortly of incidents others have felt.

Thus, I donate my life to disrepair.

To tiled and titled adults without a care.

Tell me now,

how polyester made life light?

Why the campfire of want…became hell?