I saved these thoughts
reviving from the depths
of my irrelevant mind, then
expressed in my silent ink
and vocalized by others,
dead-set on personal interpretations
accusing me of victimizing myself,
I am fortunate though, as
sad emotions outweigh
feelings of nothing at all.
I hear my fingers silently reach,
delving into my denim pocket for the key
exhuming old-fashioned fantasies of adventure
juxtaposed in freshly defined black-ink,
spelling out “one way” on mass manufactured card stock.
The way however is never specified
so I recline, my serious thoughts resign to the
path set before, taking that pre-laid track
alongside others; but my trip
They know their destination,
eyes set, gleaming with determination to
get off at the right time,
others though, eyes closed or holding a gaze
with the floor stained by lament
for missing one stop,
still I enjoy my ride.
My traveled miles are arbitrary as
distance becomes useless when measuring
my memories, my childhood gets reborn on this journey,
imagination re-enters my vocabulary
re-defining my everything
until nothing is some-thing,
until I can…
halt, a sudden jerk brings an end
to previously endless seas of autumn leaves
replaced by unearthly steel
encased in adult marble.
Now my childish thoughts play on
in the back of my mind,
their only safe-haven.
When she asks about me
tell her that I still care,
please tell her that I moved on
that I never meant to let her go.
But tell her I that I became a teacher
who finally learned
but, don’t tell her that I miss her
as those words are too much for me,
if she is happy now
that’s all I’ll ever need.
I scrub, clawing at my hands
with rough sponges soaked
in bleach, so that I can
remove any physical trace.
Forgetting that reality is
defined by my mind and that
just because the thick booze is gone
doesn’t mean it never happened.
We were as fragile as stained glass
and you knew,
I had set out the base and you
painted with me our memories,
stained them into a glass that would
reflect ourselves with the colors of our past
softening ourselves in the light.
Yet as your heart grey weary
your hands drifted, our brush was dropped
mixing unintentionally the reds blues greens
of our lives into a black that spread,
spilling into the crevasses overtaking the spaces
intentionally left blank now highlighting our love
through dark contrast and
unfortunately black does not reflect
the light all the well.