She sits in a wheelchair
years of care etched onto her face;
her family doesn't visit any more
but wait like vultures.
She looks out the window,
the rain patters softly on the pane
tears flow down her withered cheeks
running through the eroded crevices
like ancient streams.

rolls of thunder,
hear my cry

drooping rain down
from the sky

crave escape,
crave release

i dream of the place
that is made of peace

speak for me,
let them know,
theres only so far that i can go

Clearer the thought,
deeper the soul,
more original I am,
the lonelier I become.

Today, I Guess

I stood in the shower ’til the water turned cold
Felt like a tough day was about to unfold
On the edge of the bed, I sighed and got dressed
I'm going to really miss someone today, I guess
The pot of coffee I made was a little too strong
I lost count of the scoops and perked it too long
Like a wet, heavy blanket you can't throw aside
The last page of our fairytale story book lied
The bill must've arrived for past sins I must pay
I guess I just really miss someone today

They stare senselessly never having said a word to me
Mouths wide open staring uncomfortably
They stare sometimes but not like this
Everytime i wear that shirt they think i don’t feel their eyes
Staring at my chest i grow in fear of something being wrong
Did i get my period do i look bad, its none of those
I wasn’t wearing anything revealing what are they
Thinking are they claiming me or objectifying me
do they really like me Or my body
i don’t show the real me how can they like me

I cannot remember the color of my mother’s eyes
But I can still see the contour of her nose,
and how her smile suited her face so well
I am grateful for these spare mercies loss affords

Who thinks to sit with a loved one,
to make detailed notes of their appearance?
Blue eyes? Or were they more blue/green?
They’ll always be there, no need to write it down
No one told me how important these details would become

Above the swamp, lights wink and wave
“This way,” in eerie glow.
Beware! These false will-o'-the-wisps
Mean Death; he waits below.

I curb my horse . . . . Whoa, stop ol’ nag!
Oh, soon enough . . . too soon,
The swamp hags’ lair will come in view--
I wish for a full moon.

I check my flashlight’s dimming light;
It merely casts a glint.
There is the morass I must cross,
My mare breaks into sprint.

An endless night in mid-July.
But restful sleep? It’s much too hot;
And then, this constant nightly noise!
When will these fiends find a new spot?

My desert homestead is a hub,
‘round which careening bikers spin,
Much like that planet Saturn’s rings,
Except that bikes make much more din.

The hours are filled with howl and hiss,
Fumes expelled from Triumph, Harley;
Led by their Hexenmeister named . . .
Yes, you guessed it, “Evil Charley”

I wake up adorned in the raiment of grief
Like an old coat, worn and threadbare
in all of the usual places

The pockets always seem full
with memories and images of the ones I’ve lost
My familiar acquaintance, sadness, is in there too

These things fade for a bit,
but they are always safely tucked away
avoiding the holes in the fabric time tries to put there

Despite appearances to the contrary,
the coat has been very well made
by all of the tailors no longer here

Moon, in your silence,
you wander
high above my troubled life.

Wish that I, too,
could hide
behind the clouds,
conceal myself
from all.

Jealously, my eyes
follow
your own untroubled
journey,
and I wish that
my own path
should be
as unencumbered
as the one you tread.

What?—
He who would travel
happily
must travel light,
you say?
Not with this,
my constant burden.
Here, see the lines
of sorrow on my face?