Hanging

The boy stands still in the swirling wind

Looking for the voices he has become accustomed to hearing

Only to find himself strangely alone.

Countless times he has plunged his hands into the fire, the water, the wind

And pulled out each person before the pink moon rose in the east.

Only now the rose-hued Selene rises for him and no one is to be found.

A look in his eyes finds not tears of rage, but solemn understanding

Because the movement of light around him occurs

From his placement of the stars.

Every moment from here to the approaching entropy of his breath

Happens due to his ignorance, his choices, and his heart.

The wind begins to push him harder and harder

Toward a definitive but he resists the scythe and asks for one last word.

One last missive to those he misses and needs.

With his strength ebbing from him and light overcoming the wind,

He conjures their faces and merely says, "Sorry," then fades out

To become part of petals floating on a pond.

8,765.8

It slowly rolls by like a still river.

(It flashes by in a second.)

It brings with it souls not before seen or felt.

(It takes with it people who stood the line and are no more.)

It creates memories that will stand the test of time.

(It destroys moments that felt like stone but were built of sand.)

It is constantly welcome.

(It is always dreaded.)

We lift our heads high to feel the warmth and joy it brings.

(We hang our heads under the weight it drops on us.)

We constantly count it to build toward the inevitable joy we expect.

(We always watch it build toward the end we may not want.)

It saves the day and crushes the soul... or is it saves the soul and crushes the day?

And that timer starts again at zero and climbs once more

Until we can no longer remember why we truly cared in the first place.

Worry

Push it down and bury it.

Somewhere deep in your heart where no one,

Not even those who read you

With the clarity of Spring morning,

Can find it.

Let it sink into your veins

And become part of your blood

So that it is masked by the very movements of your mind.

Never show that it hides deep in your being

For the monster that dwells there will surely destroy them all.

Growth

"You have to open your fist," he whispered to me quietly,

And I did,

And when I did, her hand slipped out.

Like the animals discovering the returning landscape in Spring

She stepped forward into the world without my hand to guide her.

My only vision now is of her back as she took the sun with her

And left me here to figure out what happens next

With nothing more than a matchstick of reasoning.

The cold bite of the wind sinks into my now empty hand

As I push hope around me like a blanket and wait

For the darkness to part around the saving grace of a hand to pull me

Back from the ironic fall from grace I have created.

Te desidero, and go forth into the welcoming world.

Let Orpheus be your guide to a point and make no mistakes.

No man calls me Eurydice.

The hand that returns the warmth should not be yours.

Neighbor

He never puts on a shirt
As he stands in the fading sun
Quietly rocking back and forth
With the beer in his hand.

It's distracting to man and beast
As the jogger can't help but stare
And her Beagle pulls on the leash
Toward his lawn.

Fifteen years he's sat on that porch
Looking over the changing landscape
Of young couples gaining their first child
And losing their minds.

Like a Sphinx. Like a watchman of time
He holds the answers to random moments
Of his neighborhood. Who owns this lot?
Where is the fence line? Why should we care?

So he stands on his holy ground
In his too tight shorts and too narrow mind
Explaining to no one in particular what should be
And what will be.

A moving statue of a bygone era that no one wants back.
And when asked to put on a shirt
He merely remarks:
"Do I tell you how to live?"

And we live under the names of neighbors...
Even though we have no idea who we are.

Generation

Your hand fits mine with room to spare
Not unlike the lost moments in my brain.
I'm jealous of your lack of understanding despair.
You are blissfully ignorant to the world's pain.

But my fears are beginning to build anew
As you let go of my hand and awkwardly walk
towards the sun, back turned as time flew.
Pretty soon you'll move faster and leave my flock.

Have I prepared you? Have I made you see
that life is not a race or struggle or fight?
No, life is not a test, but a journey of coming to be.
It's about understanding, not about brains or might.

The distance between us will grow and grow.
You will one day stand above me.
But I will never ever stop loving you, you know,
Because I'm grateful you came to be.

Partners

In the silence of water

All is forgiven.

In the burning light of truth

Fallacies are denied.

In the corners of long dead hearts

Sparks cannot kindle.

In the corners of your eyes

Loneliness is defeated.

And in my arms

We exist as each others' lungs, hearts, and minds.

Let the murky depths destroy the morning

And let us stay among our silent skin

Until the songs of the sky call no more.

Mercy

Subdued buzzing returns my hand from the wall

Lights flare and incremental inches become hard to count

As the gnats and daisies of lovelorn locks search for keys.

Was there ever a definition?

Was there ever a meaning?

Questions are born and die in the span of furtive glances

Toward her melancholy strings.

A final thought drifts toward the surface:

"Her wings cannot hold my weight,"

And an eleven year battle may finally be lost.

The lack of arms and legs does not phase my foe.

He merely sits waiting for me to no longer fight...

Just ask for mercy.

Ego eram nefas.

Wallflower

Quietly sitting.

Never once anything more than unassuming.

Pithy comments and bouquets of promises

Cannot capture the sparkling oceans within her eyes.

A wallflower of divine intervention and beauty,

She treads softly to leave tracks

In the four chambers of my core.

Yet her mystique, compelling as that of damask rose,

Is palpable.

It thrives on the very solemn essence that holds

My strings together.

And I no longer understand the world without it.

Why would I want to?

Strings

Solemn vows are often subdued in the darkness of Heaven and Earth.

Quiet longings become voiced in desperation and dilapidation.

And the solid groundwork built upon love and tenderness begins to crumble

As the harsh light of reality peels back the velvet sky to show what has occurred.

Persephone knew

As did Orpheus, but his was of lamentation, not of contemplation.

The blind boy pulls his arrows back to those already removed from the board.

And the solid music of Artemis forces us to put on blinders....

To what is right...to what is wrong.

And the pillars of Earth, Heaven, and Hell shake as we commit to

Four words of ferocity.

Four words of terror.

"I don't love you," said in the whispers of Ouroboros.

And our answers are not, "Why not?"

No, we instead say, "And why should you?"