photo by: Clay Boutte
photo by: Clay Boutte
You’re by yourself
All alone.
Why’s you have to mess everything up?
Wasn’t he being good to you?
But you had to play games.
You had to think that everything would
Go your way.
To him you’re nobody.
To her you’re just another ex,
Wow that ex is stuck.
It’s who you’ll always be
If you allow yourself to be that.
It looks as if your fear is catching up to you
You’re…alone.
No one to argue with
That means no one to make up with.
You’re almost ashamed.
Your today and tomorrow are so predictable.
More than likely it’ll be the same as
Yesterday.
Half of the time you’re thinking about him.
His hugs.
His kiss.
His touch.
It’s all gone.
And where are you?
Alone.
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I can feel the glass shatter.
I remember all that matters,
As this car comes to a stop.
My body is battered,
And you’re thrown from the car.
I’m in too much pain to cry,
In too much pain to die.
I look out through the window,
And see your blood running.
There’s not enough air in my lungs,
To say my goodbyes.
I don’t have enough energy
To run to your side.
So, I lie there, shaking,
Fearing not death --
Only how it would be without you,
Wondering and pleading for us to make it through.
I close my eyes
And begin to silently pray.
I try to bargain and reason with God.
I conclude it with a cry for grace.
As you lie in the grass,
Clothes ripped, torn and frayed,
I hear the ambulances.
They’re coming our way.
As they arrive and unload
I see you stirring.
Again I bow my head
And begin praying.
But, after the slip from my mouth,
I feel tugging and pulling.
Not a physical experience,
But within my soul.
The demons pulling on my heart---
And God pushing them away.
Just as the men in white run to our aid,
I tell God I’m ready for His way.
I plead for forgiveness.
My last breath exits my lungs
And I smile---gently---
From somewhere up above.
The place we’d sit and talk ‘til dawn,
The place we’d laugh ‘til light was gone,
The place we’d watch the stars beyond,
Was that swing beneath the shade.
The place we shared true love’s first kiss,
The place that filled my soul’s abyss,
The place whose charm I always missed,
Was that swing beneath the shade.
The place into her eyes I’d gaze,
The place I’d always leave amazed,
The place that captured Autumn’s rays,
Was that swing beneath the shade.
The place I listened to her heart beat,
The place our lips would often meet,
The place where love could take a seat,
Was that swing beneath the shade.
The place we went to get away,
The place where candlelight would play,
The place we cherished every day,
Was that swing beneath the shade.
The place where peace was always found,
The place where beauty knew no bounds,
The place where home was all around,
Was that swing beneath the shade.
The place we said our last goodbyes,
The place I held her while she cried,
The place she turned to wipe my eyes,
Was that swing beneath the shade.
The place where love met its demise,
The place where joy was once disguised,
The place my heart was left to die,
Was that swing beneath the shade.
A woman who has just given birth enters the room with a pinkish glow. She pads barefoot with plump limbs--- belly empty and breasts full.
She touches things while walking: the picture frame of a fake family, the curve of her glass case, a penny, the wilted fabric of grandmother’s table cloth. She smiles in the corners of her mouth, husbandless kiss for her child lingering. The darkness of the den casts shadows on her porous skin. The kitchen looms ahead like the lighthouse on the Irish Sea-home she knew. Her mother’s freckles stride her happy face and she sings something the silence strangles.
She is going for tea in a warm mug. She knows that it will be mauve and that there is a small chip in the thick rim showing fleshy ceramic. She knows the tea will taste and smell of spices and she will picture the oriental okiya house and the painted, wooden wind chimes on the tea box. She will taste wind that is heavy with rain as she was heavy with child, but no more. And she knows this all--- and while knowing, experiences her reincarnation. The tea shall be new, now, on her lips because they are new, and are the lips of a mother who has just given birth and kissed her child sung to it with her lips.
She is as mother now and will drink her
oriental tea as a mother does, smelling the new skin of her child and the
spices.
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difference
matters, not;
Life,
You—
(Me)
Us
matter.
the crowd,
they see us together
judgment
matters, not;
Life,
You—
(Me)
Us
matter.
judgment
slowly:
tatters
frays
severs
the Bond.
life,
you—
me
Us
(End)
Tomorrow does not sympathize with Yesterday,
Because vital knowledge---
The reign and fall of Rome is trivial.
Perhaps her society may be unaware of
The missing gold, its deterioration.
He takes action to change,
And speaks out in opposition.
Seeds of destruction are planted insidiously
Through time.
The era of decadence---
First Signs of a slow and painful descent
Are gnarled and broken door hinges.
His findings are of great magnitude.
They require much attention.
The decay that was once internal
More than drips. It oozes out,
Creating tarnished and fading gold.
This weak appearance invites pests; rats,
Lizards, and crows replace the leaders of old.
He gives a graphic portrayal
Of Society’s decline.
Is her generation worse because
They are the descendants of rats and lizards?
Each nation before hers came and victoriously sang,
Ignorantly assuming greatness.
They still sing.
He knows when an internal
Collapse leaves nothing at all.
Return to HomeCreated by: Kris Johnson