Home » Posts tagged 'death' (Page 10)
When I found her like
a set of lost keys,
it was a mystery even to her
where she’d been hiding
or who left her there—but
I knew that look, as I’d worn once—
and it wasn’t me anymore.
So I let her sleep.
And I let her eat.
Then after her strength regained,
I walked her to the wood,
and watched her twirl with the wind—
of all that remained,
and all she’d forgotten—
like a dizzy spell I’d soon be too.
It all just felt so dull sometimes
Uninspired and too common place
That I’d do anything it took
To convince them otherwise
Mixed up I believed fire could walk on water
Then became the fool to my own dirty tricks
Until she told me the eye of the sea
Could never be lost or found, but that
It was always there, brilliant and dazzling
And that, it was waiting inside of me
Enjoy the day.
It’s more beautiful than not.
Perhaps I’ve said too little,
perhaps I’ve said too much.
Whichever be the case Fante,
perhaps I’ll Ask The Dust.
To understand one’s suffering
Is to understand our own,
Knowing causes pain—
But still with hope we try
To understand one’s suffering
Is to be on their side, regardless
Of the awful many cuts
Through the tenderness of night—
Their aim is (not) to heal
But still with hope we lie,
To understand one’s suffering(…)
Like fruit picked from a vine.
Then you wake up
Eyes glazed open
Sleeping by her side
And again, you realize
What’s most important
Now more than ever
And without a doubt
Like the sun, you rise
What I’ll never have answers for
Happened in the split of a second
And broke me for a lifetime in two
I can pick up the pieces sometimes
Mostly I have the strength, except
These other sometimes when
It all comes pouring out, when words
Make sense just enough to suffer again
A little less each time, though time
Time is often wearing me veil thin—
Like a dusting of snow covers ice—
I’m that unsuspecting victim
Trudging through a never ending dreamscape
Sidestepping, cautious through life
People need very direct
forms of understanding,
otherwise
the possibilities are endless,
and for most, endless possibilities
aren’t always easy to accept.
Isn’t it ironic.
The one place we go together,
we always go alone.
There’s always a story to tell.
Always,
A story…
To tell—
Words Of An Average White Male 