The Raven waits
My answer’s no
Then leaves me with
His knowledge
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An Honest Admission
I’m basically looking for the right words to tell a story
that creates sense of all my past mistakes.
I’m an idiot for sure.
But I’m a passionate idiot.
When Butterflies Were Band-aids
Look me in my heartache
And tell me there’s a cure
When butterflies were band-aids
Where fact and fiction blur
Speak to me in virtues
The one’s I’m pickled for
When only field’s were diamonds
And playgrounds left you sore
Hold me in your sorrow
With hands so soft and pure
When bedtime meant tomorrow
Was absolutely sure
Hear me as the willows
Send shivers down your spine
When fluff was just for pillows
Where wonder’s in the pine
Sense me in my mourning
For those yet to be fed
When fear meant it was pouring
Where Rover was still red
Send prayers if you still got em
Though mine have long since fled
This well’s filled from the bottom
Where sailboats are led
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.
Like puppetry two marionette
I took her to this art event
She took me to her motel bed
Like puppetry two marionette
We tangled up our strings
Her eyes were wide like Eleanor
Rigby she was fiction for
The life I’d led a year before
I hadn’t slept a wink
It’s comical how looks predict
The ludicrous and obvious
By circumstance we came to this
Offering by the sea
Her hair jet black like ravens beak
The padding of her size 6 feet
Lenore her name I said quite meek
This time then nevermore
It’s lyrical how time can tell
Who’s heaven sent and living hell
An angel with a broken bell
Knows liberation’s free
Sometimes I think coincidence
Common sense and saying yes
Are infinite never in jest
Like cherry blossoms we
Sell ourselves a dollar short
Make amends and then spring forth
Pink petals fall on the seashore
There’s no telling what could be
An accident a sign from God
A work of faith handshake or nod
They’re simply an illusion on
The pleasure box we see
The message spoke ten times before
By Poe and his dear loved Lenore
Like love’s the end all message for
Both poetry and speech
So I took her to the airline that
Disagreed with both our backs
I mean this with no disrespect
It’s how some people meet
We never spoke another word
Jumped back into the universe
I came to grips was late for work
And landed on my feet
Evening news
I remember headlights
unexpected guests
and the shrill cries of horror.
Then silence.
And relief,
that haunts me to this day.
Writing.
Most of the time, it’s like
banging your head against a brick wall,
trying to knock some nugget of sense loose,
but other times it’s easier
like morphine, numb to the world — regardless —
while telling it exactly how you feel.
Words Of An Average White Male 