Never Straight

I understand my darkness may never go away.

I carry it as a shadow…everyday.

Little is the fluctuation between the fair hair and the red skin.

Yet, there is no difference between the thin.

The thin line between love and hate.

My road is forever rocky…never straight.

My Tomorrow Place

Perhaps, I should count myself lucky to have a tenure riddled with…

‘the wisdom to know the difference.’
My battles were mine to own.
In each and every instance.
I removed my tomorrow place.
And, the everyday…of its own importance.

There were fewer paths to strife…
But still, the walks, holding its hands, are still nearby.
Dear prudence has taught…not all journeys are fair.

The gift of pain is benign.
In these massive woods of recovery,
It is a simple route to getting lost.
A struggle and stumble each day to embellish with forgetfulness.
So often times, an err to my judgment.

No matter, I must still go my own way…If only for today

Lone White Horse

I rap my knuckles upon a closed door.

I hear a voice that seems like broken glass upon barefoot.

I drive pass a white horse with no rider.

I ask…

‘Does it ever end?’ my one and long time friend.

She speaks in a whisper…

‘I am beginning to wonder that myself.’

Skin raw and filled with excess debris.

Fingers bent and calloused.

As one, I ask, ‘do you see me?’

So this is where we lay.

Open to the chaos of black new days.

I could grow older but then maybe not.

I asked, my long time friend…

‘does this ever end?’

Had I Known

Had I known this would have been our last embrace.
Would I have given more than I take.
I summon up that specter steeple.
As well as, that rare smile that graced your face.
Even now,
I ask the hereafter, with quiet reservation,
who does not falter?

Ominous choices of two forks in the road.
‘No, you did all you could.
How were you to know.
She always likened herself to beauty being bold.’

Those were the days of romantic sobriety.
Young love in tarnished hands.
A reckoning of waters,
so still they moved.
I moved.
You moved.

I am perpetually swayed back to that secular summer place…
with the worshipers in the sun’s face.
The only thing I knew to do was offer a way to leave.
Proposing a week’s reprieve.

Seven days.
It moved me.
It moved you.
And,
at the time,

that was the best that we could do.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

Aching Limbs

Clover still grows during this…the first hard frost.

I have always envied this walk…to clear the air.

Drudgery and all its beauty strewn about in wild fanfare.

The perpetual futility of earth’s aching limbs.

A healthy canvas for the unknowing eye, is all one will see.

Progress and perfection…languishing in antiquity.