The past breaks the future 

My heart is a stone
I lie in the arms of my lover unmoved
My heart is a cherry blossom
As it craves a sensual touch
My heart is a river wide
Drowning with tears, rising upon the banks
And flooding homes

My heart is a stone
As I lie untouched in my lover’s arms
It hardens with craving
And yearns to be spoiled

My heart is a leaky faucet
The bolts are loose and weak
It drips and drops rust coloured water
From pipes older than the house
They reside in

My heart has lived a thousand lives
It doesn’t know How to trust another
After all the war it’s witnessed
And pain it’s caused

Irreparable damage held together
With a duct tape heart
Frayed seams
Caulked valves
Antifreeze in my veins
So I am not ice

But I am rock
Hard as diamond
And yet pretty not
Reflecting light not
All for naught

My heart is a stone
I threw through the window
Of a young man’s house

And I am waiting for him to return it.

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Please explicate

Confusing thoughts
back and forth in my brain
but to you I can’t explain
to you I can’t explain
can’t explain
I can’t explain

A tongue-tied picture
I can’t paint
Out of character
and seeming staged
a player’s stage
we’re all but players
the world’s a stage
world’s my stage
a stage

Am I the Queen of Disks
passed through an arid stretch?
Can I give myself loving attention
gift of energy, joy in living and health?
What is joy in living?
Have you been sleepwalking this life?
Are not the sweetest realities
but thoughts and dreams?
stars and dreams
Happiness is a dream

I held a small and fragile thing
in my hand
but it fell apart like sand
slipped away like sand
or I crushed it like
castles made of sand
never last
can’t last
present past

A liminal space
to hang my coat
a doorway, elevator, beach
or twilight zone
I can’t stay afloat
holes purposely drilled
in this wooden boat
carrying fortune and pearls
losing fortune and pearls
losing purity, hope
boys and girls
boys and girls

A change is in the air
in the wind, through the trees
I hear it at night
in my bed, in my dreams
I wander off, in waking life
by the river, by the lake
lulled by the waves, and pulled
by the tide
having waded in the tide
nearly drowned in caves
where I’ve tried to hide,
burying past lives,
burying treasure, stories, lies
fiction is a lie
living a lie
I can’t lie

Confusing thoughts
back and forth in my mind
but to you I am inclined
to you I am inclined
so inclined
to redefine
prudence and rationality
for who needs a sound mind
I am not of sound mind
redefine
hollow mind

I will never be a strawman
dead man
hollow man
opaque and empty
lazy and deluded
I am disillusioned, not enchanted
not enchanting
how many times can you be labelled
a downer before
you realize you’re not a realist
but a pessimistic cynic
tired of life’s gimmick
never one to mimic
the hollow man
the stuffed man
exploring the dead land
under fading star
realizing we’ve not come far
travelled far
not very far

As I spew a poison
As I snare a hare
As I cough up venomous tongues
I cannot help but care
Though I try and plan escape
my feet stay rooted here
and so I feel conflicted
I still remain in sight
while longing to disappear
I’ll fade away
under fading star
starlight, star bright
star I haven’t seen tonight
come back tonight
tonight

Confusing thoughts
back and forth in my brain
but to you I can’t explain
to you I can’t explain
can’t explain
I can’t explain

Ode to Window

Oh window: with your simple wooden frame.
Curtains                                                a bit ajar,
Sky                                                                   blue.
Outside                                                             the
Pane.                                                                  Cat
Lies                                                                 Upon
The                                                                      Sill
Like a picture painted by some unknown artist

Rainy Day

The soil churns around my feet
The muck, it pulls me down
I have my shovel firm in hand
And dig past green and brown.

I keep digging – hole or grave
or maybe tunnel of escape? –
But with no plan, I cannot see
through the earth I do reshape.

Each particle of damp dirt here,
clings tight to my damned clothes.
The further down I dig, I think
on how or where this tunnel goes.

For though it is my hand that digs
my arm that thrusts the spade,
I don’t control, nor ever have
The piercing silver blade.

To stab and slay this crying dirt
and throw away some living plants.
The weeping willow has turned over
Despite the native prayers and chants.

The weather’s wreaking havoc;
the wind has riled leaves
to fly about, and it screams and shouts
as it huffs and heaves.

The unmarked smell of freedom
is the sweetest scent around;
it’s fresh cut grass and old pine trees,
but here it’s never found.

The toil, it produces sweat
and beads drip down my grubby face.
The unearthed worms writhe all about
Where are the moths, the Queen Anne’s Lace?

One day I may learn to find the pleasure in the toil,
until then, I hold my blade and slowly dig through soil;
The grimace held firm on my face would convince you the worst
befalls me daily, so untrue; I bear no great burden, nor a curse.

This path goes down, a tunnel round, a steep and jagged trail;
one day I’ll stop this digging craze and rest in final peace.
I’ll find that thing I search for,
And from this mud: release.