On chilly nights such as these
spent alone beneath the Buddha’s tree
near the lake where, long ago,
we first embraced in dance,
I begin to hate enlightenment,
and simply want your lips near mine again.
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Forgive the scorching sun
The same dries your robe
And helps your corn
Forgive the rain that drenches
The same brings the lads of the soil
Speedily to your barn
Forgive the night that walks in on you
Bringing no lumen
The same lays you still and curdles you
With symphonies of sweet murmur
Till the travailing day
Comes beckoning like a task master
Forgive and forgive everyone
For the air that aides the whirling
And twirling of the bullying wind
Also serenades you.
Oh September
I found your brutal heart
With its endless winds of an early winter.
Oh how I hate you
From that September of the fateful year of 2009
To all the Septembers until you and I meet once again Merry
In an otherwise empty and indifferent room
Where there are no score keepers
With their crooked fingers and ever present image
Which as the tombs for everyone not crooked themselves.
If you can own a judge in housing court
For the right price
Or the right position
Then why can’t you own the score keepers as well?
Are our worn souls
Those of us faithful losers
Really worth so much that they can’t be forgotten?
Oh Merry maybe I just should be angry with you
Leaving no letter behind
Or an explanation of why all your tomorrows have been recalled.
Didn’t you know we could have danced
Like children in all our ruins.
Was it just another job?
Then how could it have been so brutal?
We accept the love we think we deserve, but why do we only accept that which hurts?
Is it because we think that they should love us, as much as we love
ourselves?
They can try to show us that we deserve so much more, but inside we will always believe that something this good can only be untrue.
Is it a hoax? What are you going to do?
This just doesn’t feel right, we’re through.
Now tell me, do you turn back to his screaming, because you think
that’s what you deserve?
Or is it because you think he knows you better then anyone else? Do
you turn back to him because it’s odd without his presence near?
Dry your tears, you are much more than what you’re crediting yourself for, nothing is never too good to be true.
It just depends on you.
Passion is my action, aware of my transaction.
Eyes are watching, shadows crossing, beware that you are casting.
No need to lie needle in your eye, hearts crossed and no more
laughing.
Seriousness becomes my masking, two worlds begin a clashing.
While false hopes unwind I crawl through time, to save my everlasting!
The rain is very thorough.
Going where I have to go
this summer afternoon
I march west beneath
my own umbrella while
you beneath a floppy hat
dash marvelously east.
Why I wear this uniform
explains why I ignore
the perfume
traipsing in your wake,
the ribbons dancing
in your hair, as I
beneath my own umbrella
keep on marching west.
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