Watching the needle
dip down, down,
closer to the bottom
and yet,
I keep on going
wondering how far I can go
before the last drop is used up.
Just a little bit farther.
The light comes on.
Just a little bit farther.
Tag: poetry
inner me
Between me
and my inner self
what is there left to do
but fight for her,
the inner me?
I need to set her free.
Every day
Riding through the waves of the day
from high to low
and only a short while on the even.
From good to bad
and mediocre
several trips per day
makes for an aching vessel
when the finish line arrives.
Every day
the map fuzzy, unclear,
uncertainty
of sharp corners and rolling hills
remains a certainty.
Every day.
My memory is a peculiar thing
My memory is a peculiar thing
taunting me with the past,
focusing on loss, heartbreak and anguish
than those moments of acceptance and joy
in stark contrast.
The more I remember, the less I remember.
Memory skews the reality of what
once was, of truth.
It must view this as a game,
how far can we deviate from reality
and still make her believe,
and build her future based on these?
When memories are distorted into a
new, thwarted figure
what do I have left?
What can I believe in? Lean on?
The more I remember, the less I want to
remember.
There it is.
There it is.
I thought I had lost it
let it fall through my fingers
all the while watching
it fall.
At the last moment
with focus re-tuned
reaching, grasping,
I caught it.
There it is.
up and out
Heat growing, building,
turning a darker, deeper shade of red
with each passing minute.
Transferring,
separating particles from each other.
Expanding,
until there is nowhere else
for the steam to go
but up
and out.
Eventually
the same will happen to me
as it has before.
With no where to go
but up, and out,
my lid will rattle
and bounce around
making music.
A new color
A new color
rooted in natural with a new
hue of freshness.
Fresh ends cut
to absorb the new life around them,
time to start anew.
Sometimes the things little
expand into vast valleys
calling out for explorers
to test the new terrain.
Four years ago
Four years ago you left us
to find a brand new home,
among the sunshine, cloud and blue;
time to venture out on your own.
Four years ago you left us
I remember it like yesterday,
away from home, I got the call
that you had passed away.
Four years ago you left us
I remember our last hug,
your strong arms and deep voice both still there
that today, still run through my blood.
Four years ago you left us
on all of us, it’s been hard.
You live on and strong, now and forever;
in peppermints, baseball or a playing card.
Four years ago you left us
I still wish it wasn’t so.
But I dream of seeing you again someday
and into your arms I will go.
Light me up
Light me up,
now,
like the flame instantly flaring
upon the wooden match
scratched and dragged across
the igniter.
Make friction.
Scratch me, drag me and
light me up.
I want to burn.
Watch me burn.
these hands
My, what these hands have touched,
carried
and blockaded,
held
and transformed,
prepared to hoist my body
upright off from off the floor
or raise up while my head lowers
in humility,
hold your hand, touch your face
feel your heart beat
for me, or so I thought.
They feel weathered, yet strong,
predicting the forecasted weather
ready to protect me.
I look down to admire
the scars, calluses and salted stains
that you helped to put there
and I thank you
for my hands are now ready
for any battle.
Dawning Words 