The Stain

The Stain

It doesn’t really matter
If it comes out in the wash
The stain
Will still remain
Within the weave

It may not be
Too visible
In the lamplight
Of the room
But the dawn still has its way
Of resurrection

A pill may hide the truth
From what is real
For just a moment
But a moment
Never changed
What we believe

So it doesn’t really matter
If the bones
Are buried deep
The stain
Will still remain
Within the weave


A River Flowing East

A river flowing east

To my readers:
I am not suicidal.
However… the following poem reveals a perfect reflection of my current state of mind.
For reference: Read my journal entry at this location: Vision of Hope33
That information… followed by a similar prognosis for the one I care so much about ……………………………has just been a little too much for the soul……………………………

A River Flowing East

Why wouldn’t one look
For a way to escape
Instead of just
Letting it happen
Slowly –
Painfully –
As if it were ordained
As if fate had long ago determined
That you have no choice but to abide
By its supernatural powers
Surrendering yourself to
The circumstance
That now surrounds you
Why would you not even
Turn your head
To look for a way out
An exit sign
An open window
A river flowing east
Into Eden

Why would you not
At least attempt
To spread your wings
And fly
To rise up from the darkness
To the light
Why would you not want
To soar
Within the gentle breeze
Like an eagle’s first flight
Above the earth
Like the last
Leaves of autumn
Swept up by the breath
To rise above the place
Of their birth

Why wouldn’t one look
For a way to escape
Instead of just
Letting it happen
Taking the next exit
To billow the sails
On a river flowing east
Into Eden


Awaiting a Crack in the Darkness

A crack in the darkness

I watched to the east
Awaiting a crack
In the darkness
Yet dawn still lingered
Beyond the horizon
As if darkness was
All that there was
And light was nothing more
Than something imagined

Yet I still remember the time
When light chased the shadows
Down the alleyways
From neath the fire escapes
From cold damp sidewalks
Along the back streets
Bringing warmth
Inside the walls
Of cardboard houses

I remember the time
When we stayed in the shadows
With light
On the edge of the rhyme
While people passed by
Never seeing the truth
Never caring bout those
Left behind

Now that my house
Is made of things
Far more poisonous
Than cardboard
I struggle to breathe
As I watch to the east
Awaiting a crack
In the darkness


Remember the Morning

Remember the Morning

I still remember the mornings
When I would awaken
Ready to face whatever the world
Decided to send
My way
But now the morning always brings
The words I left
Almost as if I’ve had no words
To say
I left behind so many doors
Forever to remain
To hide the shadowed grace
From light
Of day
Now it seems through shards of glass
Reflections linger
Though hues of dawn
Mend the fray


Beneath the Moon

Beneath the Moon 1

It goes without saying
That I was wrong
I’ve been wrong
So many times
I have to wonder
What is right

Perhaps I have expected
What one would say
Was far too much
From those
Whom I’ve encountered
From the human race

I remember one by one
When they turned
And walked away
Frightened of the words
On the diagnosis
Perhaps they must have thought
That cancer
Spreads with just a touch
Perhaps their fear
Was far too deep
To grace

But I am not alone
In abandoned disbelief
While tides still
Come and go
Beneath the moon
For I can feel the hope
That lingers
Far beyond the sun
And touch the healing light
That heals the soul


The Dark Side of the Moon

Dark Side of the Moon

I feel more at home
While I wander here
In the shadow
Of the universe
As if unfettered
By my humanness

I can see the others
In the distance
Who have fled
Their mortal flesh
To escape their yesterdays
To avoid their tomorrows
To dwell in just one moment
Of the hush

I feel more at home
While I wander here
Exploring my ageless hands
By the light of Meissa
In the shadow
Of creation
As if unfettered
By my humanness
My mortal flesh
On the dark side
Of the moon