Cuts to the Bone
Traces linger all around
In cold deserted streets and byways.
Dark back alleys hide the tears
Which, wept in acid, burn the flesh
And blur the vision,
Making life just slightly less intolerable
Until a calm can settle in
Encircling fears with an iron mesh.
Memories are like the swallows
Flying back to Capistrano.
Even if we tried we couldn't
Fight the fate of their return.
Finger poised on trigger,
Ready to explode when beckoned.
Secrets known to one alone;
A private lesson to be learned.
Who can say which love endures?
Who can guess what fates allow?
The starting and the ending find
Us standing naked and alone.
The memory of how it was,
Of how it cannot be again,
Becomes a slashing saber's edge
Which cuts you to the bone.
Her's was a story so often told
Of hopelessly hopeful futility.
Blinded by love she did not foresee
That he would be gone before
Springtime was done.
Men are such animals,
Grunting and rutting,
Breaking the rules of polite company
Until all that is left
Is the cheap pick-up line
Which lingers in anguish
Long after he's gone.
No moral dilemmas,
No great philosophical edicts
Are written to which he adheres.
No conscience to bother,
No groundswell of feeling
Comes rushing to make an emotional plea.
Only the bodies he leaves in his wake
To languish and drown in an ocean of tears -
Waiting for someone to throw her a lifeline -
As he sails the trade winds of tropical seas.
In a world which makes us quiver
Every day at 6 PM when
Local News sends shard and shiver
Of the tragic days events;
Missiles fire and miss their target
Finding innocents instead;
Often leave the conscience spent
To dwell in anguish, jaws agog,
Praying that the world repents;
I have only one true treasure
Which consoles my every pore of
Being to the fullest measure,
Though the World beats down my will.
Knowing you are mine forever
Wards away pernicious harm
Which baits and goads to pull the lever
Which would leave me cold and still.
Until such time, we stride together,
Hand in hand we climb the hill
The Best of Friends
Even the best of friends have trouble
Sometimes seeing everything eye to eye.
The multifaceted multiplicity
Pacing life's queer circumstance
Contrives, deprives and even connives
To offer more choices than we can bear.
Do we seek shelter to hide in the sand
Or ruffle our peacock feathers and prance
Around naked before God and company,
Playing the fool,
Breaking the rule,
Flaunting the school of traditional dance?
All the alternative options and choices,
Changing experiences, motion of growth.
Little wonder we cling to a constant,
Yearn for stability,
Pray for a rock to hold on to
When winds seer the night
With it's passionless kiss
Hiding from sight.
Who will be there when you turn on the light?
The best of friends never study the clock.
Let's Be Honest
With all the back biting going on
It was hard to declare a decisive winner,
Like needles and darts thrown 'cross a room,
A Friar's roast, or a Toastmaster's dinner.
Impossible to distinguish the truth
From the lies and deceits being bantered about.
One can only hope your detectors are functioning,
Sniffing the air 'til the truth finds you out.
Pity the openness lost in your youth
Can't carry its' weight as the years pass you by.
Suffer its' loss with the loss of innocence
Grown to a beast as you covet your pride.
Can you imagine a World without lies?
A World without people you'll more likely see.
Let's be honest... To ourselves and each other;
Leaping the mass of humanity.
And the Walls Came Down
Old man Millsap was a sad little creature.
He lived down the road with his wife and daughters
Who, sad to the world, had their father's features
And grew to be spinsters with no social graces.
A quiet sort, old Millsap, the handyman;
Skilled with a hammer and saw or a wrench.
He could build a shed in the spit of a minute,
Clean up and be gone without leaving a trace.
Everyone thought him an odd little man;
Someone to pity, perhaps even fear.
Though his heart was awash with the kindness of ages,
His stoic demeanor was misunderstood.
And the tattered attire and ramshackled pickup
He drove didn't help his persona at all.
People had such a hard time seeing past the surface
To find that part which was good.
Old Millsap took masses of teasing and taunting
From self-righteous hypocrites lost in themselves;
People who joy at the expense of others,
Who laugh and cajole as they pull on the reins.
Little wonder they could not imagine
What must have possessed him that fateful evening
When all the walls came tumbling down.
Old Millsap went home and blew out his brains.
The Irony of it All
Did you ever notice the sky at sunset?
When feathers of fire gently flicker and wave
As they roll up to heaven, stretching to reach for a
Point where they penetrate God's holy shrine.
Stars are not visible yet as the sun settles
Over the crest of a far away hill;
And sometimes the Moon has awakened too early
And peeks like a ghost through the shadowing clouds.
This is as close as we Earthlings will come
To seeing the face of our eternal God.
This is the beauty, both real and imagined,
A preview, a prelude to afterlife
Where sunsets are constant and beauty surrounds
Every moment of wait for eternity.
But we ignore sunsets,
Look to tomorrow...
Too busy to stop...
Too blind to see.
Keep It Simple, Stupid
Complicated, aggravated, heavy weighted situation
Permeated with the hated calculated risks.
Choices from amalgamated theories become agitated
'Til awash and fluoridated, holding just the gist.
We combine and slowly grind until we find solutions
To a problem which, without a stitch, Stood naked to our eyes.
Could it be we couldn't see the coming evolution when the
Answers bare and often stare and even glare
With wheres and whys.
Choices. Ah, yes! There's the rub;
Far too many in the tub;
All the spokes lead to the hub
Of where we want to be.
We need but to simplify;
Penetrate the needle's eye;
No regrets... No alibi...
Your choices set you free.