Wherever is my friend
Magnolia tree in her front yard
Alternating flecks of shade ‘n sun
Upon my weakened shoulders
As I walk under it and set a spell
A good cry comes
A goodbye cry, finally
To all the disease now felled
What if I befriended time
Then took its outstretched hand
Separation was no more
Despite life’s shifting sand
Daytime, nighttime were as one
Without the fear of loss
Silver seconds, yearnless years
And age no bridge to cross
I beckon thee to join with me
In unrelenting drive
To put away some thought of death
To embrace what’s alive
Each minute is a golden hour
Each breath a pulsar day
When time gives us its outstretched hand
We must not look away
You stay out there
Laughing, likely
Mocking me
But On fire
Coughing heavily
I’ll stay back here
Broken, maybe
But Afire
Picking peaches
That God gave me
All I hear’s the breeze
The underdog sliding home
And a ripsaw heart
Original Inspiration: “As it is written, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!’ ” (Romans 10:15)
August alone again, prove me wrong
Dreams turned to nightmares
Out of the woods now, but strictly ill-willed attackers want me
Or — what I can give them
Still, every day, I show up
Smiling
Asking for more
Only arms-length adorers greet me
A bridge they must cross
All I am is a testimony
You can survive
Chaos
Abandonment
Doormatism
Abuse
Abandonment
Abandonment
Abandonment
She is not He
Nor an It or an If
She is Where It’s At, Has Always Been, and Forever More Will Be
Where If Goes To Become
She is Where He Needs To Be Attending To
She Really Is
She Is Peaches and Mittens
August Fire, Mountain Avalanche
She Is Baseball and Criminal
There’s no more Not Knowing Such Love
She Is Leading Me
I want
With the stroke of my pen, to strike you down
With the blink of my eyes, to unsee you
More importantly
I need
With the tools I surely possess, to repair my own heart
With the uncommon grace that is my sinew, to forgive you
What do you call that Far East Asian ancient sailboat?
The one that’s always amber-orange and silhouetted, multiple masts
Sailing slowly but deliberately to anywhere but here
Help me because I can’t think
What, with all the noise in my head, contemplating your silence
Your confident cowardice
What do you call it
I want to hitch a ride to anywhere but here
Treasure?
No — what do you call it?
Do not blame the Sun
Do not blame the scorpion
Blame the tender skin
I bemoan and decry
How
No one — absolutely no one
Whether in writing, or whether verbally
Neither by smoke-signal, ancient code, pony-express, street sign, Social, nor any other means of communication or Media
Except Shakespeare, himself
Provided instruction on the following:
Seeing the writing on the wall;
Surviving the sudden, unspoken goodbye;
Understanding in any way, shape, or form, heartbreak;
Avoiding the subsequent self-loathing;
Navigating the wrong kinds of depths, whilst working to resurface;
The exact location where one may file a writ of replevin to retrieve back their spirit — unshattered, whole, good as new — and perhaps their house key, as well; and,
Walking with confidence therewith.
Inspirational Credit:
“Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.”
-William Shakespeare
