Fate still takes its breath

Fate still takes its breath

I suppose it doesn’t matter
If it rhymes
Life is full of circumstance
The hourglass of time
Though hands may sometimes
Reach across the veil to touch the heart
Is still the final work of art

I suppose it doesn’t matter
In the dawn
If yesterday stood face to face
Cross lines that had been drawn
Though eyes may see
Through painted glass in hues beyond the sun
Still takes its breath…
When day is done


Borrowed Time

Borrowed Time 3

I cannot lose the hope of breath tomorrow
While still another rhyme hides in the shade
Although I bide in time that may be borrowed
I’ll pen my dreams till dawn begins to fade

If I should lose the vision of the dawning
Yet still can feel the warmth of morning sun
Perhaps the vision found within the yawning
Will never leave the poetry undone


Consequential Circumstance

Shadow man fire 4

It wasn’t that it happened in the light
For it is in the darkness I remain
Consequential circumstance could never touch the sun
But fate can wrap it tightly in the rain

Perhaps because it came so unexpected
For I walked beneath the shadows of the moon
Consequential circumstance could never touch the soul
But there was fate…
………. still etched into the rune

Perhaps it wasn’t consequential circumstance
For it seems I was the one who took the blame
Thinking I was standing in the silence of the moon
I must have been just standing in the flame


The Rich Child… A Reality

Mikie 10F

The Rich Child

I grew up a rich child…
Rich in finding ways to entertain myself
Rich in having beautiful thick woods to explore
Behind my house
Complete with two ponds…
A very ummm… rustic treehouse
Crudely nailed to a huge old oak
Where the sound of cougars
Echoed through the night…
I was rich because I grew up
The forgotten middle child
Where I could roam free
And no one would miss me…
I was rich when I walked along
The railroad tracks
And lingered with the hobos
Making camp in the old
Deserted shale pit
Which often provided many hours
Of intrigue for a boy of ten…
Learning so young that life
Was often a struggle
While strangers offered to share
Their only can of beans…
I was a rich child
Because I survived scarlet fever
When I was twelve
Back in the days when there were many
Who did not…
I never could quite rise above the fray
Yet I still learned how to dance
Inside the rain…

I grew up a rich child
Sharing a room with a brother
Four years my elder
Who gave to me freely
The top bunk…
I was enriched with humbleness
With the birth of a sister
Ten years my junior
The ascendant child
In a too crowded world
Of the light
Of the verse
Of the rhyme…

I grew up in riches
With lies of the father
Deceit of the sister
And flight of the brother…
A mother
Who struggled to tend…
But I dwelled in riches
For I was forgotten
And left for the vultures to mend…
But the creatures all gathered around me
And lifted me far out to sea
Where family failed
To look in my eyes
I still found the way to be me…

The Rich Child 33

Maybe I’m Already Dead

Negative 2

Maybe I’m already dead
And hell is real after all
For there is no calm nor sleep in the night
Nor angels that sing when I fall

If this is life ever after
I’d prefer that death be the end
Without the light that shines in the darkness
I can’t be the willow that bends

So maybe I’m already dead
And hell is real after all
And some other poet is writing this poem
While seeing my face in the wall

If life has to end with our suffering
And our poetry lingers unsaid
Perhaps on this earth there is hell after all
Or maybe…
I’m already dead


Mysteries of the Mind

Mysteries of the mind 1

Suicide is a horrible and tragic experience for many people.  Everyone who knows and cares about the one who commits suicide, instantly becomes a victim.  It hurts everyone around them and affects each and every one of us in a different way.  Yet… we all can’t help but ask the one question that no one ever really seems to have an answer for…. Why?

Sometimes the signs are so subtle that even those closest to them don’t sense what they are feeling.  Most often, suicide is a complete shock to those who care.  We just don’t understand how someone can destroy their own life and at the same time, profoundly affect the many lives of those who surround them.  What is so passionately dancing inside their head that would make them feel that there was no other resolution? 

The mind is a mystery and there are things that wander there that no one will ever be able to fully explain.  Hug those close to you… be sure they know how much you care.

Mysteries of the Mind

I saw the bus coming
Two blocks down the road
My mind full of clutter
About to explode

All stop lights were green
It soon would race by
Me on the curb
The bus on the fly

I thought I could step
Right into the lane
No way could it stop
In the cold pouring rain

Just a sad accident
The news man would say
The old man just fell
On this gray rainy day

But I couldn’t help thinking
Bout the girl hind the wheel
What it would do to her
How she would heal

Perhaps she’s a mother
A daughter a wife
And how it would touch her
And change her whole life

Perhaps I’ll think twice
And take a step back
Consider the fallout
Fore all things go black

But the mind is a mystery
Blind in the pain
And those who know anguish
Get caught in the chain

I felt my foot sliding
From the curb to the lane
I felt the blood surging
Through the heart of my veins

I looked in the eyes
Of a soul in the wind
And felt immortality
Borne to ascend

I watched as the crowd
Had gathered to stare
Not one of the strangers
Even offered a prayer

I’m sorry for changing
The life of another
A daughter, a wife
An angel, a mother

But the mind is a mystery
Veiled by the pain
And thoughts can get twisted
In the cold pouring rain


National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255

Go ahead… open it

Can of worms 2

Go ahead and open it
It’s just a can of worms
Perhaps you can feed
The fish or the birds
Or watch
The children squirm

There’s no instructions
Of how to prepare
Listed on the side
Of the label
So go ahead
And pop the lid
While they’re all
Sittin’ round the table

It’s well past due
They face the truth
And read the words
You scrawl
They’ve lived their lives
With blinded eyes
From the writing
On the wall

Don’t sit around my table
Just to play your guessing games
For I can look into your eyes
And read the truth in flames

Pretending to be
What you are not
Will only spread
The germs
So go ahead and open it…
It’s just a can of worms


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


Poetry of a Sailor

My beautiful picture

Poetry of a Sailor

It wasn’t time
That passed me by
It was my failure to absorb
All of life
Along the way
Caught in the sway of the moon
Like perfect passion
Carried from the shore
In the ebb of the tide

It wasn’t breath
Down in the ocean
It was my failure to inhale
All the air
Beneath my wings
Caught in the strings of intrigue
Like perfect passion
Muddled ‘mongst the silt
Beneath the sea

It wasn’t land
For which I longed
It was the failure to dance
With my soul
On savage seas
Caught in the breeze of a whisper
Like perfect passion
Drifting on wings of the wind
That calls my name