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.

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)

Criminal Heart

There are these moments where I cease to exist.

Moments I dare not wish away.

Such like, a slight vulnerability we dare not display.

Though a lover may profess their love on any given day.

My crimes of the heart…

Dark and blistery.

And, lonely the roads I have chosen.

Chosen to stay within the refrain of the sane.

Triumphantly, no matter the luster…

Rear-view glances to all hereafters.

Are mine to define.

No fault moments…

Placed in the attic of my mind.

A Truthful North

Winter is clattering at the back door.

Long worrisome hours of night falling on the skin.

Yet,

hold still.

Love is not lost.

Up on geriatric pallets.

Made of used nails and scraps of tin.

The world we know,

inhabited with dark necessities.

A truthful love.

A truthful north.

Knows no pity.