In the midst of thunderous gale.
A noose is loosened.
Dislodged from a ceiling.
Where the lead is chipping and peeling.
Stones, previously marked with similar name.
A pastime of clientele hanging on shame.
The obliged have always wondered.
Can you cremate pain?
Thus, hold onto dignified days,
and their remains.
A participant of curiosity’s oddity.
I, too, have queried…
What remains of the day?
All the protocol that stands in the way.
I wonder if you had been frightened staring down the barrel of a dark tunnel
Now and again, I sneak a peak to where you have gone
I grance and wonder
had the bleak scope made an impact
Did you understand where you stood
had those faint and painful smiles been a matter of what we have always done?
Lying there with your god and your rosaries had there been relief or repentence?
Tunnels have a way of squeezing out the memories
Memories, so long over looked.
In the end of your travels could you stop worrying about that which has not happened yet?
I thought like you…I had been raised to
Not once did the light at the end of the tunnel open up to anything new
Glancing up and around, and threw, as you did, could there ever be all that you wanted to do
down in the hollows where my secrets lie
I do not know where but I am certain I know why
aware of the grasshoppers, thundering under potted ferns and cemented angels
these unvetted prophecies kick the dirt out of my mind…time to time
but when internal misery comes by…when it is less sought
it beckons by in a flood of wrongs not what is just my simple ‘lot’
I visited my blood in a sense of duty to dust away my plights, my faults
appealing to the autumn breeze I could not let go of…
I am not you
I can be love
I do not want to think of him.
The brother I once knew.
Born an old man.
He had been more than my father could stand.
Larger than a vat of well stirred anger.
Hope never surrounded him.
Love, seemed a danger.
alive…but his breathing unwell.
I think of him in a past tense.
Like a folklore I should tell.
On a mid summer’s day.
Rare, relinquished thoughts.
Five second memories of my brother.
An abandoned lot that time forgot.
This old house has seen it all before. The rummaging of angst…The backdoor horrors…
Three crows circling the unkempt gardens, pecking orders for the leftovers.
Descending much like beggars to pennies upon the floor.
This old house…closed for repairs…missing steps in the stairs.
Leaking self depreciating humor…encased in toxic rumor.
This old house…if only you had known sooner.
A foundation built on Christ.
Dining in prayer with the Father and a roll of the dice.
I shall tell you now.
I shall tell you now…
what all these years…
you have missed.
“Nail and frail and lying low. A legacy cast no shadow. For it must have not just shape and form, but contempt for danger…or, it only lay shallow.”
“Occasionally, we have to take care of those who once…took care of us. Often leaving, the participants, stuck between wonder-lust and antiquated mistrust.”