Wails pierce the darkness,
ripping slumber from the streets.
Like a kite tail flipping in the wind
moans trail flashing lights down the boulevard,
leaving a trace of tears and the hint of death.
People go about their business while
Mother rocks the crying child.
The weary rest, but they never sleep.
You swallow the words
They stick like cardboard in your throat
and settle like stinging nettle in your stomach
You replay them over and over
until you feel like a crumpled receipt,
not of use anymore and too late to exchange
Hugs don’t erase words
and words don’t ease the pain
You move through your days like
an inch worm measuring your time
and spend your nights pointing fingers at yourself,
knowing you will never be the same
Everything you once knew has vanished
and you wonder if it was really an illusion
Hold onto the flicker of hope within your soul
and look for the meaning beneath your pain;
the tenderness may sprout a new leaf
as time has a way of smoothing wrinkles
and pressing us into our lives
Our mangled feathers drift in the wind
While we bury our ghosts beneath the sand
Wisps of passion continue to twist and bend
We can’t control what we don’t understand
For there will be more wounds we can not tend
These actions we take have not been planned
Words escape lips a bit too late and hearts rend
And still we both remain in no man’s land
You smile and go
about your day
while no one knows.
Fear puffs you
into a parachute that never lands
because love sends you searching
for answers you can’t understand.
Such a fine line between life and death,
yet here you are…trusting.
Tears reside below your eyes
and dance across your soul.
Pain sits on your stomach,
hard and lumpy,
like a bowl of oatmeal
Heavy and wasted,
you measure yourself out again.
Words, too late to retrieve,
Take up permanent residence
Ink stain upon the heart
Like a pen explosion
In a front shirt pocket
Seeping fluid black
Permeating the thickness
Until it splatters skin
Leaving it’s mark
A tattoo on the soul
- Peasant Woman Seated (Half-Figure) – Van Gogh
A look of disdain
Smeared across her face
As if the narrows of trust
Had skinned her living soul
Was she used or abused
Tired, weary, or just plain sad
Lips stretched in pain
Will she ever speak her case
Or do as in that day she must
Was she simply hungry or cold
A woman worn and torn
Letting go the dreams she had