A lonely woman was crossing
a bridge and there was a slight
fog. It was clear from the way
she sat that her heart had been
broken. And if any one of these
three things were never true,
I never would have purchased
the book upon which she rested,
with herself on the cover,
broken hearted.
Out on his own,
ravaged like a
weathered ship
that washed ashore
a millennium ago.
Awoken one morning
by lone seagulls cry,
the world seemed so
very cold now, not
knowing love.
It’s frightening growing
old, out on your own
listening to seagulls cry,
and shy away from looming
thunderstorm, that lashes out
for all the broken hearted
down below.
Does anyone else feel like me?
I don’t think things are quite right.
The children I’ve raised and live with
Seem like strangers after they’re gone a day.
Would I even miss them?
The house I sleep in every night
The same walls for 12 years
But I’m sure I could leave tomorrow
And have no need to even look back
The man I come home to, kiss and lay with
If he left tonight
Would I blink twice?
All of these weights that should be moorings
Seem unnaturally transparent and thin
And in fact I seem to be tethered quite lightly
With nothing keeping me still and real within.
Loneliness at midnight,
Like a sharp blade.
Scratched but no trace.
Stop but no peace.
It’s quietly approaching behind.
Like putting fire in oil.
If a meteor does not fall,
Darkness will not draw.
Always hovering in
front and back of the intersection,
It seems that everything is not far.
But the result is faint.
When everything,
It has already begun.
And everything,
But it’s just beginning.
Monday at work
I go to break
Behind the building
Away from everybody
Smoking a cigarette
Sitting on old railroad ties
The ugly green building
Is close enough
I could throw rocks at it
And never miss
The concrete silo
Stands silent gray
The weekend snow
All around me
Feel I am in the Arctic Circle
Thousands of miles away
So alone
Like the silo
Concrete gray
She goes on in my mind
Like the train tracks behind me
Nobody can teach you
how to be lonely
because it is a self-taught
ability and affinity
to various levels of self-pity
yet, certain kinds of music
can enhance that solo
ballet in the depth
of the valley
of your moonless mood
and you should just admit
it’s pleasurable to be miserable
to stew and brood
refusing all emotional support
as well as the sustenance
of home-made food
and to think it all started
because you misunderstood
what somebody said or meant
which made you
check into solitary confinement
and only you can
unlock the door
to set yourself free
for you are the prisoner
and warden
with the key
More at http://www.ivanjenson.com/.