I am this quiet
piece of my remaining self,
no one knows,
I won’t let anyone else
I’m only this
Have you ever really looked,
studied expression beyond a comment,
the quiet afterward,
if you could be inside that bubble,
how soon would despondency return.
I’m asking a question,
I already know the answer,
because it always returns,
despite my effort to want to move forward,
it’s the questions, the unknown,
the desire to feel wanted,
and then everything goes to hell.
Have you ever wondered if a person’s frame of mind,
is solely built upon interaction,
what if you put them in the words,
with an assurance of human isolation,
how long would they last before they decided,
nature might be the best solution.
Next time you wonder,
take a moment,
realize your impact is far greater,
than you might quietly ever imagine,
in the space of your own reasoning.
I do ponder the many faces,
oh so many hours of time,
lost on the need to recognize,
a desire to know more,
for the moment,
these eyes, maybe a smile,
certainly the extent of a hot summer day,
coffee, laptop and a little music,
and am I a part of today’s society?
Have I met the standard of approval,
a person may suggest to themselves in private,
while whisking away their latte,
perhaps a chi tea, or the coffee of the day.
We’re all here
imagining only that which we are,
in the manner of a moment capable
of grasping, while all around us,
the life of others seems to replicate the same.
At least the coffee is fresh,
beyond the ideals turned stale.
We might just sit here every day,
same chair, same glance through windows,
perhaps never to be noticed again,
at least so the mind seems to say.
I struggle with words,
they seem to carry on a certain storyline,
one I can never really grasp,
until the print allows my eyes to remember,
the swimming in motion ends
when it becomes the right time to let go.
I’d like to find the imagery in pain,
is it the steel edge cutting into a red ribbon,
where eyes might watch the soul slip away
in steady stream
no more hesitation,
a quiet, soothing, not so eternal release.
A friend of mine once said to me,
it is true we live our lives a very short time,
so in that span of countless hours,
we might remember love,
for it is that spiritual energy allows our smile,
if only for a brief instant,
to give us hope, a meaning and reason to survive.
I know that sometimes words might convey meaning,
but if it isn’t felt then they do become
only a semantic journey filled with imagery and pause.
Oh it’s true, not simply a mockery
we often appear to be more cagey
I’ve carried the wounds of childhood,
in order to find comfort in that I would.
This life I lead is sometimes a travesty
I hurt people to benefit me, simplicity.
A long time ago, she seemed to agree
yet still today I haven’t a place to be.
I live in a bubble some might decide
if pierced life would surely need subside.
Yet, somehow I maintain an integrity
one that surely lives on in subtlety.
She is the maker of my dreams I swoon
though it is me shatters imagery too soon.
I wonder about this state of mind tonight
is it really all that matters or that might.
I can feel my body is resolute with despair
I cannot move from this place to there.
I wish that I could feel a sense of response
to rather know the pain than cause a ponce
I’m a quiet man inside my lonely mind
there’s far too much memory to remind.
I hope that time might heal the pain I cause
for as much as time for me does give pause.
I love to know that my life here does exist
for the need to disappear I then might resist.
my mother would reference this place,
a sort of mental ravine,
her heart might nearly stop,
eyes would glaze?
blood flow in her feigns might suddenly,
spill into one pool of spun lethargy.
This was not a place
she liked to be,
she’d often howl at the nature
of love and all it’s failings.
yet, she never discovered a solution?
only knew when inside?
not a lesser degree of pain
could ever exist.
where my mother was always never to pull the plug,
I might decide otherwise,
though my freedom would be sought?
there leaves a ring of memory,
clinging to everyone’s personal psyche.
For now is this brief telling
of a society, a world, a small neighborhood,
this is the story
of you, and me, and the neighbors,
the kid running the sidewalk
We are going another direction
tonight, to a time, or maybe a familiar
reason to act this way,
let’s all pile in,
and witness the same over there.
For the have that you speak of need,
might lessen the burden for a not,
if little houses seem the pattern,
then certain marble castles,
with gigantic columns
only in a dream.
I’m talking about hair nets and fry cooks,
a lavender sport coat in the rain,
a polished makeover that let’s another
in their moment of truth, complain.
It is easily recognized in the car
she drives, for when he once did,
she became less incredulous
she could always do the same.
Let’s remember when,
our childhood brought us to a field,
where we play for hours, just with the
tall grass and sweet rains that
gave our hearts a reason to breathe.
For that’s when,
all the crying would end,
and a body alone,
could settle in to experience peace,
in the quiet rain.