maybe tomorrow…

maybe tomorrow

one day
we’ll all
wake up 
alone
we’ll hear
those familiar sounds
morning birds
how the house
seems to wake
alongside us
it’ll be then
that
our hearts sink
and
our eyes
realize
we’re
in bed
and
truly
alone

 

 

inspired by mair’s music …

inspired by mair's music

how different
is
the night
without love’s song
when
winds
blow memories
into
the darkness
and
love
becomes
a faded memory
like
a child’s laughter
captured
in an old photograph
one
left
in
an old
oak dresser
destined
to be
in
some
auctioneer’s
lot box
for
a quick sale
to
the highest
bidder
without
a thought
to
the
memory
of
its
enduring love

for some semantics…

for some semantics

i was telling aunt bea
about
a friend
of mine
that works
in a nursing home
and
how she said
that
some elderly
are
so confused
that they talk
about
people who’ve died
as if
they’re still alive
aunt bea
took a deep breath
and
said
there are people
on the periphery
of
your life
who’ve passed on
that we say
i knew them
but
there are others
whose love is so implanted
in our hearts and souls
that they are
always
talked about as
i know
so and so
for you see
they are
still alive
a living memory
of
true love

spell-casting…

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

in the darkness
the conversation’s words
are repeated
as if an incantation
that might reverse 
youth’s decisions
rewriting lives
and changing
personal history
but the words
only fall
into the darkness
mocking
the dreamer’s
dream

 

 

the same time zone…

town_clock

these are not
discrete points
this year
from
the next
nor
from
the one
that preceded
they are
a continuum
of
war
hatred
and
greed
and
prayers
prayers
that
have no
endings
nor
answers
we pretend
for
a brief moment
celebrating
with
wine
and
kisses
that
what is coming
will be
different
a temporal oasis
an oasis
surrounded
by
the same desert
we were
just
wandering through
and
must
now
re-enter