mis…take

what was never wanted
will never be found
what echoed with music
will make no more sound
what believed in love
will return to the ground
what gave without getting
will no longer come ’round
what dreamed without waking
has naught left to hound
what suffered in silence
is forever unbound
what created with words
will no longer resound
what trusted your heart
goes in that burial mound
move on as before
cocksure and closed down
the freak show is over
and done with this town

Constance

What is a heart? I gave it away
amazed at the price
it goes for today.
What is a love?
No one can say
and yet they still sell
quite well anyway.
What is a soul?
Withered and gray,
holding out for some aid,
tattered and frayed.
What is the point
to love you this way?
Holding illusion
to keep reality at bay?
My darling I am steady,
true
as a compass,
let not your fear
wreck the twain of us.

Third party clarity.

A good deed done
in kindness.
A question sent
via text unanswered.
The passage of hours…
a different question
sent to a different person.
Suddenly a reply.
Strange how much clarity
born through this exchange.
Am I so minute in your eyes
my every utterance merely
tolerated?
Is my presence only remembered,
only remarkable if a third party
incidentally brings it to your
attention?
How few days would it take
to erase the smile on my face
from your recollection?
As many hours as I
passed under the radar of
your consideration?
Good deeds do more harm
it seems.
So I’ll drift forever solo
through the restless sea
until you forget completely
whomever it was I be.

Pattern in a subtle texture.

Like holy vestments,
the bonds of connection and affection drape my frame with regularity.
Investment in emotion,
a peculiar form of clarity…
Sensitive to feeling,
my heart beats hardest
in honest service to another.
Cast adrift by words spoken,
seeking to be a healing font
mistaken through affection
I know I’m not what you want.
Yet ever am I casting
to reach a true ideal
through a torment everlasting,
the fulcrum that I feel.
Brush your shoulders darling,
my dust lies heavy there
the detritus of a being…
burdened by too much care.
The taint at most is fleeting
you will not feel it true…
one can only ever give for real
all that has come into being for you.