One foot
in front of the other
over and over
will walk you away
from the thoughts and voices
telling you
you are not okay.
Tag: poetry
first crush
I loved you
before I even knew what love was
though I never told you.
I wonder if you got the hint, though,
from the smiles, timed laughter
and how I always seemed to be there
where you were.
Probably not.
I thought I knew what love was then
and even now
I laugh
because half the time
I still don’t know what love is.
morning sounds
Sound carries a long distance
in the morning
when there are few others
to compete with.
Listen to the world.
Appreciate, then choose,
your contribution.
last time
What would you have said to them
if, the last time you saw them,
you had known
it would be the last time?
learn from my mistakes
If I had known then
what I know and understand now
I would have treated you better.
I know this to be true.
But that was then,
and nothing I do now
can change the way
I broke us
and broke you.
together in the dark
Tower over me like a tree
thickening the air with leaves and branches
until all the light is blocked
and it’s just you and me
beneath,
together in the dark.
empty beer bottles
Empty beer bottles line the windowsill,
collecting dust down through their necks
to mix in with the last few drops of alcohol
not consumed,
nor rinsed out and down the sink.
Lined up in a row
they tell a story of the evenings past
filling our stomachs with barley and malt
until they reached our minds
and made us feel better.
Some are yours, some are mine,
but we drank them together
talking, smiling and laughing,
liking each other.
For me, at least.
How many beers will it take
for us to tell each other
how we really feel?
passing the light
You ran away with my light
hours away
into a thick, dark forest
where I could not trace you.
Then, you gave it to him
so I could chase after him instead,
who held it for mere minutes
before passing it on again.
Now, my light is constant
burning bright through the night
amidst occasional flickers,
like lights do.
Where is your light now,
who does it burn for?
still
Still
as the tiny beads of sand
resting in the bottom of an hour glass
finding, at last, their resting place,
for now.
memories turned to dust
Collecting dust in the corner,
memories of who I once was
and hoped to be,
stand stagnant
letting the castaway remnants of air
settle, and find a new home.
Layer upon layer,
compressing those beneath,
perhaps eventually
stratifications will appear through the dusty clouds.
Memories, all visible,
stacked on top of the other.
Remove one layer at a time,
clean and polish the surface.
When memories have turned to dust
it’s time to let them go.
Dawning Words 