Regrets

Praying God for your soul to keep
praying for anything, to do anything
but all my words that I hoped would mean
something fall from my lips like these
tears that spill from her eyes, all of the
sadness, all the joy, all the badness
I forget, I will not be there with her in sleep.

I know that you have a little time left
I want you to have some peace in your rest
I don't want to be here alone, bereft
I tried my very best, like it was all
like some pitiless contest.

I should be crying,
but I just can't let the despair grow
I should be thankful
but the fear and worry won't let go.

All this things that I should have told you
all the times I should have stopped just to hold
you, all the apologies and all of these regrets
I can't help but feel that it would have been
better for you that we had never met.

Give me, just another moment with you
in the sun, give those memories back
to me. Just give me one more second
to enjoy that last kiss, all of the times
I thought I would never have to miss,

I should be crying,
but I can't get the anger to slow
I should be coping
but the anger is beginning to show.

All the words that I should have said
all the promises I made but never did
all the trust that you had me in me
all the things you needed me to do
all of these things that we once held true
now that death has come for it due
I have nothing left, if I don't even have you.

Original credit to form:

Kate Bush: This Woman's Work

(song almost always makes me cry)

 

A Writer looks at 40 and a few years.

It was bound to happen eventually, frankly I almost missed
the reference until I thought that Buffett would sing about
the changes in latitudes and I would remember the sea.
What did it mean to me? What did it mean to me?
It's like I have cast my lot once again like a line
thrown out over the waves to drop down into the
deeps where all the secrets I had hope to hide
float among the remains of the mysteries that I
want to keep. In my sleep. In my sleep.
Mother mother Ocean, I had heard you call
in the dulcet rhymes of the ancient mariner's
yarn about fate and the fool hardiness of it all.
The words of the whale song ring through the
lines that I would want to write down with my
shaking pen in hand. Will have to give into this
demand, will have to live with this demand.
Father father sky, I still can hear you out in the
great wide open, in the eagle's cry. I should keep
dreaming that I can fly, should give it one more try.
Watched the authors who told your stories switch from
pages to the LCD screens, forgetting the ink, broke a few
pencils, leaving their mark upon my psyche with a
electronic digits, nothing in between. Most of them
green, most of them green.
Yes, I am a writer, a wordsmith scoundrel, my stories
well in hand, hoping for a voice to be heard out
across this land, The years have made me what I never
thought to become, when the language would fail me,
the plans I made grow stale, unrelentingly unrealized
all that I had hope to gain, but still I see doubt in the
mirror of my plots as if I can see into my own sad eyes.
Nothing left but to despise, I am, in fact, a master of lies.

Breaking away

This is how it all begins and ironically where it all ends
this is when I realized that without fervor that so many
things like love and sleep, fights and the need to make up
for leaving things undone, in short, I want to make amends.
This is how I should have said I was sorry before you left
this is how I keep repeating it in the mirror in a bathroom
in a house that is no longer mine as if the ghosts of the 
memories are nothing more than hallucinations to be
ignored, or something I should have felt more for 
unloved, unmissed and definitely unwept as if this is
a certain kind of something that I should have remembered
as if the darkness and the pain were worthy of being
treasured, stashed away in my mind, safely kept.

This is how i will choose to remember this when I am gone
as if all the things we argued over was worth all the 
anger and all the tears, how we laughed and how you
would stop in the kitchen and shake your head and then
just sigh, whisper something like why do i love you,
and i would say that you were amazing since you always
try and then the lies when we didn't want the other to worry
and the times that I wanted to deny that I was worried
that the day would come when it all fell apart, when you
would stop in the foyer and then slowly say goodbye.

This is how it ended and where I want it to begin again
this a lot of words just to say that I really miss you
especially when it rains or is sunny, when the morning light
falls through the windows in our empty bedroom or when
I look across to the chair that you always sat it when you
would read your books and giggle and then you would grin
and i would make another list of the ten things I loved about
you as if I could stop time and look into the abyss that you
left here where we lived, now its just as if your ghost still
haunts the empty rooms and hallways where our pictures
still hang even though I know you aren't coming back
and I keep standing alone in the bathroom avoiding the
mirror which would betray all that I am feeling as this
emotion is beginning to break away.

The Perils of Sleep

In Darkness

Sinking into the meditation of silence

like drops of of water falling in a cave so deep so silent

that each splash rockets its impact out like the

sound of shattering glass 

then the tinkling ringing of each shards flight

flashes out into the imagine 

like stars out and a way
into the eternal night.

I sleep

dreaming of the the spaces between shadows

and the fading light

I run in and out of these sharp edged visions

as if I am but one more ghost

floating with the mists that surround the borders

of the secrets that I would like to keep

from the echoes drifting

down into my sleep

If I awake 

from the suffocations of fretful sheets

will I be conscious that I actually crossed

paths with an omen of my future

like a child's prayer warding her own fears

against the creatures that encircle 

her bed as she cries out

against the terrors that fills

the inside of her head?

Breaking Orbit

I am looking up, yet it is down, the Earth waits below,

I am saying it once again, this is goodbye

Engines are go, I guess we are going to give this one

more try.

The space stands between me and the orb that holds

the lands of rock and green, nothing is like it 

always seemed to be before I found this urge

to breakaway, to reach out into the sky

I am reaching out to Ground Control but the

comes no reply

Sitting there alone, I think about the 

captain who sent me up here as I watched

enraptured by his moments on the imperfect 

box. I fight the urge to call for warp speed as 

we wait for the retort that does not come.

This is it, we are leaving our home,

all the promises that we made in the dark

all our ideas seem little more than a flight of

fancy, an abstract algebraic lark.

Now there is nothing to do but wait in the void

as the minutes slide by looking to our 

instruments for an explanation why.

I swear to the gods amongst the stars

I make promises to the saints that have come and gone before, will the radio reach earthward back to all the things that I had once believed to be true?

Is this all that will remain when we fall away from world of the oceans so deep, so blue?

Will they remember that I was born there?

How long will it take me to forget the clouds and the happy moments that appear to me now that my time remaining is down to seconds, so little time left, heart beats so few.

the electronics sputter, the garble begins to stutter and our isolation ends as the controllers come back to life

This is the end, this is the beginning

this is the moment that will define us as a race

breaking orbit going out into this misnomer 

we still call space.

 

Down in the Hole

Everything looks so far away, as if I am looking down
a long railway tunnel and the world is more like a blur
than a photo and the light is oblique and life wanders by
only stopping on occasion to gaze down in the hole.

I remember the sunlight like a fading memory slipping away
as if I am falling down a bottomless pit so far that the speed
becomes relative, so much that I stop thinking of gravity as
anything more than the emotional weight that bears down upon
my soul as I rest easy in freefall down in the hole.

The last time I cried my tears rose up my face to trail away
like dew in reverse settling into the sky which is narrow and
all the questions that I wanted to ask are little more than echoes
escaping from my lips unutterable syllables of doom as I peer
intently for some sign that anyone marked my passing plunge
into the darkness, away from life and pain down in the hole.

You won't find me if you even remember that you were going
to look for me as I fade away like a ghost slipping out into the
night and the spirits I once held around me like a blanket flutter
out into the missed opportunities that my own fears robbed me
of as my very existence runs out of kinetic motion of the plummet
expends itself like the essence of potential and static find the
sudden need for equilibrium of all my illusions ripping away
from me down deep in this hole.

a question of being

One of my heros has opened the floor to questions.
Amanda Palmer is a personal favorite.

What kind of question should I write when faced with this kind of calamity

should I wax philosophic or just wrestle with my mediocrity?

Am I hoping that she will provide a deeper insight into my world

quite unlike her own, from the perceptions of life as if her brave, 

I am woman wisdom will pass onto to the crazed I am human

courage unfurled like the banners I wish to fly, the dreams I have left 

untried, along with my fears and the hidden tears left uncried.

Can i hope to ask the something that will be notice worthy?

Will my meager request pass the muster of what will be thousands 

of pleas and queries from voices more desperate than me.

Is it not enough, that we think is similar circles? is it not enough

that I can simply sit across the vastness of the information sea,

and give the royal yell to my fellow voyager of non-conformity? 

So this is what i will ask although I suspect that I am not the first.

At leas this will not be much more than the worst to ask what moves you

out of the blandness, out past the fog of apathy to inspire the words that

you share when all else in the world does not pity nor care

how do you reach, how do you find it in yourself to dare

how is it that the stars still shine in this universe of seeing

it's a not so simple question of believing and being?