The off-days

It’s not the job that does a man in

but the off-days,

when he’s got the time

but still can’t find the reason.

wasted days

I remember all my wasted days

so vividly now and always

because for all my wasted days

tallied together, I’m that much more

thankful for the good ones

and the people I shared them with,

who made them great and who I miss dearly

upon all these abundant, wasted days.

No matter the days happenings

No matter the days happenings,

good, bad, or ugly—

remember to remind her,

the one you love—you love her

and there’s no place you’d rather be

than with her, dreaming of tomorrow.

Seven months & Two days since

Seven months &

Two days

since…

Nothing really makes sense,

does it? Didn’t then,

doesn’t now!

Life just goes on until it doesn’t.

Like the envy of a caterpillar

for the beauty of a butterfly.

our dying days

Was she ever happy

or was she just pretending?

Was I?

I agree to disbelieve any such questions.

Foolish notions.

I’ve given it far too much energy

to accept such nonsense

and far too little to concede.

What a crime to disregard our time

together no matter how wild

or foot-dragging it was.

I may be a fool but I’m not a foolish fool.

A pity? No.

We were glorious in our infancy

and though covered in blood and tears

marvelous in our dying days.

So many histories

So many lives

cherished

and now

this.