Alone by Maya Angelou

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires
With money they can’t use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They’ve got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I’ll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
‘Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Nothing More to Miss

There are moments I cannot touch…out of fear from being.

Dark, gloved hands, reaching out in leather and lace, pulling me from the sanguine times.

Floors that drop without provocation.

Shifting forest that call loud and severe.

And, yet I find, there is no voice.

Puppets and clowns amassed in bad intent.

This are the times that love and loss have lent.

I miss you when there is nothing more to miss.

I fall in love with you, each illness, each sorrow, again and again.

In the seconds that backtrack from past to present and present to future.

You are what love to be.

You are my friend.

Someone’s Someone

You were someone’s-someone, once.
Such as, those many wanting more than just enough.
A young wife given to the vow of love.
Had you not been tangled up in someone else’s blues?
Would I have known you,
the way in which I have imagined you?

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