sorry… could you repeat that….

sorry..

now that death
has become
a personal friend
it is difficult
not to listen
to what it has
to say
oh
like
all
old friends
the conversation wanders
over familiar ground
stories and words
heard
so many times
at the passing
of other friends
that the mind
wanders off
but
returns
for new
details
especially
those
dealing with
my
last requests
and
wording
for
a gravestone

as sleep unravels…

as sleep unravels

dreams
bundled sheets
of unwritten letters
to loves denied
letters
stacked neatly
in the corner
where reality
and
fear meet
a bundle
held together
with frayed wishes
of a tomorrow
that will not come

immorality’s loom…

immorality's loom
so carefully
weaving the warp
of her lies
into the weft
of truth
such patterns
when woven together
create the shed
where
the color of truth
can be bled
from the fabric
by picking threads
to shuffle through
the frames
of young minds
such that
only
the raised shed
can be viewed
when
time wears away
the foundation
of truth’s fine threads
those
threads
of truth
give strengthen
to the warp
making
the lies
believable