I Only had One Heart to Give Away

I only had one heart to give away & I gave it away in youthful exuberance.

Now I lean forward into a short future & a long past passing from remembrance.

I only had one heart to give away I’ve spent a long time “in love” & I’m weary.

Now I still wait for him to sit by me cause that’s all you want in your life when life’s dreary

I only had one heart to give and I shouldn’t have given it to him in Springtime.

I sit chilly in Fall facing winter & my lover/friend is lagging his way behind my Time.

I only had one heart to give & I gave it away to carrying friendship instead of a love I wanted.

Yet I still hold out hope that he might one day see that it’s better to be loved than flaunted.

Even Still

Even evil can dress in white even as it strikes to bite.

Even tears shine. Whether happy or sad light finds them.

Even in death bluebells blossom in spite.

Even in sickness the cream rises to the rim.

Even destructive fire reveals the ancient Pines’ seeds.

Even in the midst of failure a lesson lies just for you to see.

Even in hate is the opportunity to change a heart.

Even after lies we can make a fresh start.

Even in love our hearts apart can be broken

Even I learn & am a different man with each word I have written & spoken.

Falling Forward

There’s alway always always a choice & and I choose life.

Not because my future is shiny but because I value my strife.

Not love it or like it or even look forward to it but strife has value.

It’s the ebb without which there would be no flow through.

Life’s turning wheel has fortune & misfortune that switches like the tides.

Accepting the fact of this is the sustaining light in which life can be taken in strides.

It doesn’t make it easy, just easier to handle, due to understanding.

You’re promised only the scant knowledge that life will inflict good & bad things.

That’s the way it is & everyone knows it consciously or unconsciously.

Cognizance of this is what allows me to always see the paths that are open to me.

There isn’t ever nowhere to go…take it from someone who once lost their way.

So when your feeling blue & trapped & lost in the woods pull out your moral compass & give it a day.

Writers’ Topography

I sweat letters I bleed words. My whelps rise in prose. I’ve got bruises shaped like poems.

My blood is ink; my tissue it’s blotter. My hands are printers & I’ve got verses on my bones.

My skin is a infinite page; tattoos my prologue. My nails are commas; periods my moles.

I feed my body with the world & my mind with what it does. People fill my heart & soul.

My fingers & toes tap to the sound of typing; a rhythm like angels singing & devils dancing.

Is it any wonder that my professional proclivity is language & my inevitable romancing.

I walk to you leaving a trail of shedded pages in the hopes that you read the body proffered.

I won’t be around forever so don’t waste time procrastinating the volume offered.

So Concerned with Sanity

I think every day on my own mind & the flaws I know it bears.

It puts me in mind of a bottleneck & my sanity has to squeeze through there.

We have limitations in our lives; an obstacle strewn course.

I question my feelings of doubt, worry, fear & remorse.

I’ve lost more than I’ll ever remember. I have reason to question my mind.

I’ve spent so much time alone because not many have chosen to be kind.

My flaws are more than I care to count.

My limitations are the kind I can’t surmount.

My limbs don’t do what I tell them to do.

So I find a way around if I can’t get through.

This is a strength of mind. Yes, I think on them too.

I speak to you of flaws & limitations but it’s not all doom & gloom.

I can’t run or dance but I still know how to sit & groove.

This bottleneck of Can’t I squeeze though daily gasping

Trying to find a stout hand hold that’ll gain me purchase grasping.

My life is much like rock climbing horizontally.

And when I reach the summit of life I’ll know I did it because of me.

So yes I’m constantly concerned with my sanity. Who wouldn’t in limitation & isolation?

Though, the fact that I’m worried at all is proof I can let go & purge my mind of fixation.

No Reverence for Remembrance

We revere the veneer of history. Why?

We know it’s not really what’s gone by.

We know it’s been whitewashed by victors.

Wanting the poor & colored living even stricter.

Though we know that History has two sides.

Which side you’re on by two things is tried.

Either you see the truth 20/20 in hindsight…

Or use your moral compass & hope your choice was right.

So many events & people are ignorantly lost to time.

Wrong color &/or wrong gender so history never dropped a dime.

This is the way it’s always been & I fear will be much longer.

But many have gotten a first look at their compass; making the movement that much stronger.

I hope for once that we find ourselves on the right side of right.

Else we’ll find that we are in for one long hell of a fight.

Just to get the facts right.

The Crippled Place

I write & I don’t have to show my face.
I write & I don’t have to know my place.
I write & live at my own pace.

When I write, I write from a crippled place.

I write & I don’t have to hate myself. I write & I don’t have to lie.
I write knowing I can come off the shelf.

When I write, I write from a crippled place.

I write inside this prison that I & others built.
I write inside a dungeon of doubt.
I write so I can hide it with gilt.

When I write I write from a crippled place.

I write knowing it’s my only chance.
I write knowing it’s my lock-pick.
I write for a change in circumstance.

When I write I write from a crippled place.

I write because I cannot leave.
I write because I cannot stay. I write because it helps me grieve.

When I write, I write from a crippled place.

I write because no one is coming to relieve. I write because it makes me feel better.
I write because it helps the magic to believe.

When I write, I write from a crippled place. A place I know has no reprieve. And yet there’s a defiant smile on my face.

Eye Found

I am the eye of the storm.

I am the unbroken levee.

I am the silence surrounded by chaos.

I am the silent lightening.

There’s no thunder to be heard after.

I can hear the cylinder of rage around me.

It makes my silence more stark.

And it is my silence, as you can clearly see.

I walk alone. I walk with the eye of gales.

It’s my own private wind & rain monastery.

At least until its walls finish falling around me.

Damocles’ Sword Collection

By divine rule’s intervention I am knighted.

A sword hangs above me…tied & tightened.

And yes, with nightmares my sleep is frightened.

Tentatively I test the throne.

The sword still hangs & I am not at home in such a rich gold tone.

A sword hung by hair follows me everywhere.

So far, as it snaps & falls I’ve caught it with an air of flair.

I’ve kept each catch I’ve luckily had so far.

With every new sword I say a prayer & wish on a star.

I carry on each day; gulping at the sight of scissors

I live in hope of dull edges & for my hands kindly nurses

But as my sword collection grows, recoiling becomes second nature.

I’m not allowed helmet or a visit to the “Armored Haberdasher”.

The punny point is fear that life hangs by a hair.

But I’m a funny juggling fighter who catches things with flair.

You should come and see my collection sometime; sooner rather than later.

We never know when I’ll lose this game & be impaled during an afternooner.

Separate Together

Our souls are not in our bodies at night. In dreams they’re thrilled to roam free.

So that passionate barnburner you had last week was a “la Petite Morte” for a woman in Nice.

Should are bigger than our bodies so they are felt but felt loosely as we move through space.

Though you have to be attuned to your own body to feel your souls hovering around you in place.

Lying still & quiet you can feel the warmth all about grazing your skin.

Lying still & quiet you can tell indubitably that the presence is closer to you than kin.

If you’re really good you can jump & feel it ricochet back to you.

And yes, at night, I promise you the you soul leave you & one becomes two.

The soul is expansive enough to visit the moon within the space of a evening.

It’s adventures related upon return that we disregard as dreaming.