The Progress No One Sees

There wasn’t much pain anymore, just this numb curiosity that glazed his eyes with bitter knowing, as he understood that no matter how many questions received there answer, there would always be one, that only he could accept.

There wasn’t much pain anymore, not really. That’s not to say there wasn’t any sadness. In fact, sadness was still there, much like a dear friend, waiting and willing to drop everything in order to be with him, listen to him, and strengthen him, in times of need.

There wasn’t much pain anymore, just this constant urge to flee, and no matter how good the situation was, it came on like tinnitus, this constant ringing in his ear that seemed to say—think of all the things you could be doing…but you’re not…because you’re here.

There wasn’t much pain anymore, just time. Time enough to do anything and everything he needed to get done, if only he could grasp a sense of urgency, before being halted by this ability to fade within himself—hours on end—and not do anything at all.

There wasn’t much pain anymore, not really, just this introspection. It came on like a migraine, but left him feeling light. And over time this bitter knowing, well, it didn’t go away, but lessened with each breath. It was a private understanding—one he’d keep forever—in the tender of his heart.

Instinct & Irony

Why does a dog chew a bone

or a cat toy a string

why do people do anything

other than sing—

why does sitting alone

in a park, on a bench

have to feel so good

when nothing makes sense,

but the sound of laughter

and a boy up to bat

while his father he cheers

hearing the crack

and the shadows with grace

dance light over page

of a passage familiar

as if written for me—

it’s instinct of course

the cat toying string,

and by the end feels pleasure.

But people write poems

and think too much,

they suffer alone—

ironically.

The difference

The Summer was never peaceful—

Filled with silent worry

Watching from my window

Her skin turn golden brown—

Here’s everything, they said

Tokens for your smile

Just listen to the carnival

and what fun they’re having

How still it breaks my heart—

But what’s a boy of 12 to do

When everything seems pointless

And your world is very small

Knowing no one really listens

To the secret lives of children—

but I had a good mother who tried,

and that made all the difference.

The Primrose Path

We’ve walked before, the primrose path

and what good hath it brought?

It’s crimson skin, and pit of death

the yew forgives us not!

Quite tempting is the flower, bud

who’s poison’s not enough,

it’s beautiful and deadly

how, our lives rely on luck.

See nature isn’t partial,

it doesn’t give a fuck.

We’ve walked before, the primrose path

to learn what can’t be taught.

The Old Wood Fence

I remember sitting

by the old wood fence

the alley, silent as a whisper—

The birds then sang

like they do now.

And just like a boy

hits puberty, I still don’t know

what’s wrong with me?

I watch the light

claw its way down the alley

and where shadows hide

I look for clues.

In broken bottles.

In rusted metal.

In pavement laced with weeds.

By the old wood fence

with its perfect knots — I scream

to hear my answer.

Two Worlds Within A World

Your world’s in careful order

while mine’s in disarray,

I’ve tried to read between the lines

but there’s just empty space.

When dumb luck gets regarded

for gentle hands of fate,

I sit for hours wondering

whose world has been misplaced?

This fault line, it grows deeper

the longer that I think,

what good are silver lining’s with

prospects neither believe?

Is what I forge through fiction

just white lies for dispute?

I try to keep my distance

to organize what’s true.

Seems when I find the meaning

these worlds they split apart,

now mine’s in careful order

like yours was from the start.

As for that space between?

There’s no room left for me.

There’s nothing to be found

I’ve lived there long enough.

I’m happier with words that mean

exactly what they mean.

I’m happier to be a part

than live in disarray.

If it’s time that pulls the strings

than it’s I who’d rather be,

two worlds within a world

alone—

three worlds to form a whole.

Answers(but who’s to say)

My heart’s in heavy motion—

like a pendulum I sway,

back and forth, regardless of

the shadows of the day.

Would it hurt you to feel better?

Is it sadness or just sad?

I play this broken record till

it doesn’t sound that bad.

When questions sound like answers

it’s there I feel at home, but

impressions get mistaken for

first readings of a poem.

It’s how I’ve formed the theory

that everyone’s alone,

perhaps then not a pendulum—

I’m an ever sinking stone.

Love That Book

You recommend a book to me.

I read it till my eyes grow tired.

It’s not a long book by any means,

but a book this good doesn’t have to be—

To make my eyes feel warm like fire.

Let Me Help You Stand

When there’s no one left to listen,

just the silence of your heart

It’s there you’ll learn the lesson,

for later to impart

Within all life’s little blessings,

a simple walk around the park

I offer you this dear confession,

I’ve always loved you from afar—

I know I haven’t made this easy

I’ve been a bitter, jilted man

But I admit the damage to me

has solely been from my own hands.

I know I haven’t made this easy

Somehow you always understand

And every time that I have fallen

you’re always there to help me stand—

When there’s no one left to listen,

darling let me be your man

I don’t want to be your burden,

this time let me help you stand—

This time let me help you stand.