Unhappy

There is this part of me,

A responsibility,

I feel it every day,

Scraping my insides,

I have reasoned with it,

Telling it to grow up,

Be strong and face life

And its reality.

I have bargained with it,

Giving it compassion,

Clothes and food,

Even a daily hug;

But it wants more.

I cannot give this thing

A loving glance,

It has remained the same,

I’ve outgrown this dance.

It asks me at daybreak,

If I still feel passion;

But time has changed me,

In every physical fashion.

It seeks to feel what I gave,

A long time ago,

I choose to bestow a hug

And nothing more.

It asks me at noon,

If I remember it at work,

And I want to yell

“How can I forget your fucking nails?”

It asks me at twilight,

If the sun is as gold

As the time we danced,

I look at the gold and think

How many more years

Before it burns out.

Perhaps if I ignore the thing,

Its own need will eat it alive.

I’ll prevent a rescue,

Even if it is from me –

Perhaps sadness will do the deed

For it can never be happy.

What would I ask Life…

What would I ask Life

If I met her one day?

Why couldn’t you make Love stay?

Wasn’t your spring young enough

To defeat autumn’s blight?

Could the summer flowers not

Sustain the winter night?

Could your cyclic seasons

Leave no hope for Love’s heart?

Could reincarnation

Not prevent you to part?

Were the dreams that you dreamed,

At the dawn of childhood,

Bitter as Time to die

As all sad mortals should?

Or were you just too vain

To labor for love

As a good lover should?

Was love not the lover

You hoped he would be,

And you got abused by Hope

And Love’s own vanity?

Were you too busy with Time

Neglecting love’s demand?

Was Time deceitful enough

To keep you in demand?

If everything’s a cycle

And what was now is,

What the past hides away

The present always sees,

I ask of you, dear Life,

After all that you give,

You end up with just you,

What makes you want to live?

Worlds

where has the world swung

vanished quietly

into the cold outside

and inside

 

voices speak to yesterday

and wonder why

feelings hear tomorrow

yet refuse to die

 

the world seems to appear

a gaping wound

surrounded by gore

of all the years

 

a large yo yo

dangling

from a white beard

unwashed and tangled

 

another world swings in

on gollum’s hair

reeking of fish

and heat

 

 

it hits the wound

and rebounds

was that world real

or is this one?

 

 

6:40am

21st sept, ’11