I will survive no longer
I will live
I will surrender no longer
I will fight
I will suffer no longer
I will be content
I will stand still no longer
I will flow
I will hold on no longer
I will release
I will cry no longer
I will smile
I will hate no longer
I will love
I will be confined no longer
I will wander
For in the end,
if you can understand,
I will.
They say ‘You grow too old to dream’
They say that ‘You’re too young to know’
Yet say ‘You can do anything.’
So do I stay or do I grow?
For if I am too old to dream
my time here is already done.
And if I am too young to know
then teach me, so the rising sun
will never find me void of thought
as I look at the world through eyes
of what I’ve learned of love and wonder,
cynicism and surprise.
A jaded innocence possesses
all the years I’ve been alive;
still taking people at their word
though most of them are talking jive.
I’ll never get too old to dream.
I’ll never be too young to know.
I’ll keep exploring although it may seem
there’s nowhere left to go.
From here I can look
all around
and survey my empire.
There, the distant hills gilded
in silver mist and emerald leaves
humble my own royal robes.
And here, the servants at my feet…
Young. Nubile. Fertile.
Mine to pluck like ripe fruit,
or slaughter as tender lambs.
My bride’s perfume is pleasant.
The eyes of my court are hard.
The halls of my palace
hold whispers of secrets and dreams.
My gardens host ghosts in the moonlight.
They tell me to be at peace,
take comfort,
sleep.
My borders do not
boil with rebellion,
and there is
no alarm of armies
at my gates.
I stand at the pinnacle of
all my achievements,
and realize that as I watch
the setting sun,
there is a smile
in the darkness of my grave
that
patiently waits…
And in this
lonely, dusty ruin
I count the coins
comprising
the price
of my perdition.
I have strangled
my conscience,
and opened
my accounts.
An easy life
in uneasy trade
for a diseased soul
that screams
and cries
in the silence.
I watch it
fall away.
I will be
troubled no more
as it sleeps.
And see
the teardrops
spray from my lips
as I whistle
and smile,
eternally
dying.
I found it quite by accident,
long after
you were gone.
A sunbeam
through the dirty window
was resting on it,
a celestial beacon
like
a navigator’s star,
or a savior’s herald.
Emotions stirred,
slow and sluggish,
a snail waking from sleep.
I hesitated, standing in
the acrid, arid attic dust,
my heart warring
with my mind,
Do I open
the treasure of us?
Long buried memories
of times past,
of youth and strength,
of love and passion,
of you smiling,
of us, in love.
I could open
the creaky wooden lid,
softened, like me,
by age.
I could grasp
the rich fabric to my cheek,
and twirl the bright coins in my fingers,
admiring their sparkle and flash
in the fading light.
I could let slip
through my fingers
the bloody cloth and the fool’s gold.
But it’s all of a piece, isn’t it?
And I would have
peace now.
I wiped my tears,
and left
the treasure of us
unopened.
I will hold it
in my heart,
in these last days.
For that is enough,
and somehow
more than riches.
Flowers for wishes
Flowers for dreams
Flowers for nothing
is all that it seems.
Flowers are falling
from heaven above.
Flowers are given
when one is in love.
Flowers for loneliness
Flowers for tears
Flowers for happiness
driving out fears.
Flowers are falling
in fields green and gold.
Flowers for young children
soon growing old.
Flowers for wishes
from out of the blue,
wishing you’d love me,
if wishes come true.
A changing season
marking time,
Another silly ‘season’-rhyme,
Another sun-splashed
Autumn day,
A leaf-strewn path
to run and play,
Another golden light
to see
Another day
with you and me.
I love to spend
the seasons here
though slowly
they leak life and youth,
But you are constant
as the seasons
and I hold to it as truth:
That will never change.
In the empty room,
she sits alone.
The snow pats at the window,
and the wind bumps against its panes,
but she ignores pristine whiteness.
There were snowballs, sleds and snow angels, long ago.
In the park she sits amidst
singing birds, solo saxophones,
and new blossoms full of hope
and virgin fragrance, budding with the
hum of the earth in their stems,
but she ignores the music.
There were picnics, finding robin’s eggs and holding hands, long ago.
Along the rainy path she walks in the evening,
when people are home, drinking coffee
and kisses from lips, warm and safe and dry.
The broken umbrella hides her face, and the
rhythm of the raindrops beats to the
racing of her heart.
She ignores the water.
There was jumping in puddles, closing her eyes to listen,
and sticking out her tongue to taste the water, long ago.
Standing at the bridge, alone in the misty twilight,
she stares at the red leaves clustering on the riverbank,
as if the tree bled its branches bare.
Vibrant with their true color, she ignores the fallen foliage.
There were bonfires under the stars, the admiring of
deep colors, holding them up to the gold and crimson fire
to see through gold and crimson filters,
and sipping hot chocolate, long ago.
And now there’s
no one left to cry,
to cry with,
to cry for,
to cry to.
And so,
she cries
for them all.
There’s reason to go on, they say.
Just take it slow and day by day.
But see, I know I’ve lost my way.
And no, my friend, it’s not okay.
Good intentions, noble hearts.
No avail, my life’s in parts.
Some are missing, some are old.
Tarnished is the burnished gold.
With a rueful smile I see
There’s no getting back to me.
So with what remains, I’ll go,
Hat in hand, a so-and-so.
What’s that, friend?
You’ll say a prayer?
Does my heart good
that you care.
Thank you for that.
Leaving now.
God don’t answer
why or how.
Still, I won’t say no.
You pray.
Say it as I
walk away.
Love you too friend,
don’t you cry.
Don’t think I’ll be back
to try
starting over,
learning new.
Time is short,
and days are few.
Gonna watch the sun go set.
Come with me, and pray, and let us
share that moment,
knowing why .
And when the sun sets.
So will I.
All my duties come to naught,
and as for all the things I bought,
I place the high-def screens in
front of things that really matter,
And put the things that really matter
inside the screen.
Pictures of family
Pictures of memories
Pictures of successes
Pictures of loss and regret
Pictures of friends who lost
the battle to live forever…
And today,
here I stand
utterly alone,
wrapped in sullen silence,
chilled by cold thoughts and
ironic imaginings
of what might have been
after all this time.
Sifting shifting sand,
unable to find what I deemed insignificant
and buried,
only to realize all that
ever matters
is the life you’re living
Now.
Beyond Panic 