Peer Into My Whole

They stare with a skeptic glare
wondering why such a beauty has no man.
Making claims she must be strange
sitting alone with a notebook and pen
sipping her soup and dipping her bread.
They question why?
How can this be when she has no guy
to sit by her cold side.

She takes a glance around;
she is the only one
bold enough to eat alone.
It calms her, smirking, knowing
she is brave enough to brave
the judging of those afraid
of their own alone.

Oh how people have too much wonder
about one another– giving them lives
they know not to be true, like this man
here, wearing shorts with semi dressy shoes...
he dresses quite strange yet here I am
trying to give him a name. Silly, Silly
we’re all the same. Yet I go alone,
I’m no different than Jane.
What I see in you is what’s already in me.
Do you see? What you claim of me
is what you see in you. You’re embarrassed
by the loneliness surrounding me,
the shame in my public solitary,
but that’s just how you feel–

 

I enjoy the silence between my breaths.

Such Knowledge Yields No Freedom

Always,
we speak
of days at end,
no longer seeing
the sun set, or rise
to start another blue day.

Persistently,
we search to find
the answers; wondering
what could the other side hold
if it were to have hands and thumbs.

One day
we will know
and come to under-
stand, allowing it to be
no end for me. It is all lies.

Every day
we slowly die;
becoming more ripe
with age like fruit rotting
on the muggiest of fall days.

Today
can bring
a change. Life
is ready to be had;
waiting for you to stop
searching for death, it will come.

A Case of the Dim

All those outside see light
come from those graying blue eyes,
though she does not feel
the harbored light inside.
It all must be escaping;
stolen by the tainted hearts

yet hers too is–alone.

She imagines herself
the rainbow fish, giving
all her scales of light away;
Leaving herself a dreary,
dull, uncolorful…

Through days
a stapled smile
veils those troubled eyes.
At night
a frown upon her face.
Dim room– alone,
no light left
to see by.

They said they loved
they’d never leave
yet left alone
my heart it bleeds.
A ghost inside
waiting for release–
another wasting body
to rest beside me.

Some days she wakes with no light
protruding from dismal eyes;
her veil uncovered, they just pass by.
Unnoticed, unseen, assuming her
sad sad sad, mad mad mad,
losing her mind–

she cries.

Tears extinguishing any rays left
within that burning mind.

Encounters of the Lonely

Pursuing breathing eyes
in a room full of ghosts.

Glimpsing into one another
we see past blood and bones.

Language is nearly silent;

we will speak only through smiles.

My heart unraveling
everything your eyes wish to veil.

Your fingers delicately graze my hand
transforming tingles up my spine.

Your hair gently shifts
when the cool air blows beside.

It is only our first meeting
yet I’ve known you every day.

My best friend in disguise;
blooming flowers in blue eyes,
but you’ll only stay a while.

Glory For Fools

In the meadows of unspoiled green,
where darkness brings no fear,
this is where they want to be.

Fruits dwell on ancient trees eternally,1
and the birds seldom long to fly south
in the meadows of unspoiled green.

No concern of war from sea to sea,
without end coexisting happily;
this is where they want to be.

Loved ones dully sip their tea
while masses of people shroud
the meadows of unspoiled green.

Whilst you take their lives infinitely,
eating their carcasses, animals never flee;
this is where they want to be.

But I’d rather walk through the fall of leaves,
through the death of things
than in the meadows of unspoiled green,
where they are all dying to be.

1: Inspired by Wallace Stevens Sunday Morning

No Love In February

If it weren’t for those who brought me tears,
these grins wouldn’t be so wide; or
could this bitter snow have made me?

Nor would I be so wise, so subtle in disguise,
bringing so many their lost smiles,
if it weren’t for those who brought me tears.

All the drafty winters, barely luminous summers
at the small house above two hills;
could this bitter snow have made me?

The small school with the smaller playground
would be forgotten in time
if it weren’t for those who brought me tears.

And the green grasses faded
yellow, soon covered by white;
the bitter snow could have made me.

Yet I wonder how it would be,
becoming me
if it weren’t for those who brought me tears, or
Could this bitter snow have made me?

Six Lives of Paper

I.

Riding the wind
as she blows through the valley.
A lost note passing by.
 

II.

  

Smooth as the green of a leaf;
born tough as sandpaper to skin.
In a single lifetime, numerous forms it will take.

 

III.

Flat on the table, almost invincible;
an ant compared to those around.
  

 IV.

 

Slim paper to thick chair.
Sit here a while, flip pages in a book,
while you burn things made of the same
in the fire.
It is all around you.
 

V.

 
Placed here and there by
many hands.
Rip it apart, fall to the trash.

VI.

Windblown to the snowy bank;
Stuck.
Lights pass, no one to retrieve.
Soon to be covered by fallen snow;
gone by morning.