There is no rush

I know we say we cannot wait,
but take your time, there is no rush;
too soon you’ll bloom, outgrow your room,
and leave our home with hollow hush.

Of course we’re excited for the moments,
but they’ll end as fast as they begin,
so let’s savor what we can never again:
watching you grow even now from within.

I know we say we cannot wait,
but take your time.
There is no rush.

It won’t be our last

When we fell in love, we fell in fast,
fueled by the loss of loves we surpassed,
but this time it’s forever; for every year that’ll pass,
each kiss is a promise that it won’t be our last.

Before you were even you

Remind me, when I’m old and blue,
when all that’s left are empty rooms,
how much I feared the love that grew
before you were even you.

Indulge me when I’m working through,
adjusting from the life I knew,
where once was one, now three from two,
before you were even you.

Forgive me when I’m feeling new,
when all I know feels half untrue;
what little time to try accrue,
before you were even you.

Believe me, when I’m got, I’m glue.
Where hopes are few, we’ll hold them too.
And I know it seems impossible,
but I felt a little clue…
the universe reached out to me
before you were even you.

Feeling Green

Imagine if that’s all it took;
of all the ways that goodness slipped,
to find it soon upon the hook
two days afar since when you sipped.

And still! It promises no harm.
And yet! It poses as a cure.
For how it gleams and glows with charm.
For why your faith must yet endure.

You’ve long awaited feeling green -
that pang to undermine wears old -
what was foresaw shall be foreseen
as greens unfold as mines to gold.

Standing Still

I envy those who bear the rain -
already soaked, why spoil the fun -
they are the same who know that pain
is but endured, and not outrun.

It passes (as they knew it would) -
head-starts on all who turned and fled;
I oversee what’s understood:
their standing still to get ahead.

How they became

We rise toward the freedom-peak,
and summit at the clear survey,
expecting higher scales to seek,
but find that down’s the only way.

We clamber from the panic-crowd,
and back away from every fate,
retreating into empty clouds
that snare our steps with hollow weight.

We fall right through the nothing-edge,
and lucky if we catch upon
ascending air that forms a ledge
on which to furl and fossil on.

We wake to days that other’s don’t,
and count the ways we’ve lived the same,
contending that it can’t - it won’t -
become of us how they became.

Every day, I choose you

Don’t fear the fervor of my leisure;
each venture falls as fast it rose.
As love, as lust (as every pleasure),
they’ve all made way for greener throes;
that is except for all I treasure:
this life (to which all others measure)
that I choose each day as hard I chose

before,
again,
evermore again.

Increment

There was never an urgency.
’Pinned’ in my messages, ‘Starred’ in my chats,
sound advice and mentorship at my fingertips,
banking on years of challenging questions,
astute insights, and a-ha moments.
But those chats now lay inactive -
‘12 days ago’ -
and they will increment for every day to come.

Hurt

Nothing fazed you.
Never scared to challenge a norm,
always ready for the next big adventure,
the next cage fight…
I had it down as ‘bravery’,
or some feverish determination
to never let this world keep you down;
to keep anyone down.

Nothing fazed you.
Never panicked by dire circumstance,
always channeling your focus for good,
for teaching us objective truths,
but I never knew the reason…
you never feared temporary discomfort
because nothing in this world could hurt you
more than you hurt already.

Mike

Was I toasting to you?
Compelled to smoke an Excalibur
and finish off a bottle of Rabbit Hole,
what deep pain was I trying to overcome
on behalf of a friend so many miles away?

Was that why I couldn’t sleep last night?
A sledgehammer held in the darkness.
Whose soul could relax and lay to rest?
Only the body ignorant of what has occurred.

How is it that you inspired so many,
only to martyr yourself to where we will not follow?
Your mentorship was not done!
We were not done!
But now I wonder if the calm behind your eyes
was death, all along.

I await each stage of this grief now knowing
that I don’t have you to call.
There are so many ways you helped me grow,
and I thank you for them all.

Another Life

I never thought we’d have the chance.
That spark struck in dire times
when darker luck detained our love,
and we joked perhaps “in another life”,
but did not know what we had sowed
until we woke in it together;
another life. This time, forever.

Flares

I looked over at the well,
leapt to my feet,
grabbed a bucket, ran for it,
dashed through puddles already forming
(unattended, and overflowing),
caught the water
as it throbbed, spilled,
rose in the center,
fell at the edges.
Held my bucket,
looked about for anywhere to empty it,
found only more water,
so began to drink.

Climbed into the well,
swallowed each bucket with a shallow apology,
sank lower,
deeper, darker, bleaker,
each night another bucket filled,
each night another wet brick recovered
at the cost of a soggy soul,
of drowned words and a sore jaw.
Laid down and done against the base,
reached to my waist,
pulled out a flare,
and fired it.
My literal last hope,
there, manifested,
and about as short-lived;

except, it wasn’t a flare,
and I didn’t sit there wondering if your ship would pass
today, tomorrow, or next week.
Instead, it was the final arrow in my quiver;
it’s feathered flight forged with forever’s fingers,
designed to travel any distance,
to cross any period of silence,
to strike, and then return to me
before your blood on its tip had time to dry.

--

But what of poetry?

I drank and sank with every sip;
a bucket filled, a brick revealed.
I drained and claimed back every drop
too long forsaken, but never forgot.

These prayers like flares are final hopes,
short-lived and shot in skies for ships.
I raised and aimed instead a bow;
an arrow forged in a missed tomorrow.

It flew and drew fresh blood from you,
then returned your redness to my reach.
With tacky fingers, I began to climb,
fighting to surface before they dried.

The Universe

Struggling to even find the words
is a failure to observe.
There should never feel enough of time,
but death is not the curse…
it’s forgetting there’s a duty
to go document your world.
That’s all your maker wants of you;
to write the universe.

Untouched

As for me, I’m left untouched;
anticipation come undone,
and dead as flags without their wind -
my fingers melt into the sun.

I’d cry but cannot bear the thought
that tears would be the first to know
and set upon my skin like sharks
who hunt the salt for blood in tow.

I suppose that’s why I have returned,
to lean my love upon a crutch;
no matter for why the lonely shore,
I shall not leave untouched.

The Traveler

To cross the ocean
is to ride atop life itself.

To cross the universe
is to empty yourself of life;

only you remain.

the future

a quiet moment, in our home
playing my songs for her on piano
discussing our future
I decided to play a new one
she cried at the crescendo
told me she loved it
but when I turned, ready to kneel,
she was already gone
apparently unaware of the stark proposal
from the other room she began remarking on some unremarkable thing
sheepishly, I pursued her
box in hand
"You forgot the best part", I said
and the rest is future

Vow

I find me recognizable.
Though far-flung from where I hung
and sung for empty bars,
swung swift through lanes and cars,
now sat atop the highest floor
surveying all that came before;
encapsulated by a skin
that bears the scars of seasons past -
at last! At last! A chance to pass
and elevate my heart above,
re-educate my soul to love
in ways of yesterday’s amazement;
every day unfazed to face it.
Live the life that we created,
and fight like hell to never break it.

Release

Let’s get lost somewhere in town,
and scuttle down these cobbled streets
to pubs discreet from public eyes,
and magnetize to cosy nooks,
among the books and wooden beams,
where streams of consciousness combine
like vines entwine and climb the spires,
like fires desire and feast on flames;
this hot exchange shall only cease
when bodies crease and breaths release.

But maybe it’s the cure

I drink like I’m trying to kill something inside me,
chipping away at it day by day,
unhooking its claws from my soft, internal flesh,
and occasionally bludgeoning its viral stranglehold
with a night of seppukurian abandon;
choosing for myself the most delectable,
grandiose of weapons
with which to cut me core to core.

I wish only to feel better,
to be free of that incessant writhing;
thick chains and dark anchors,
not weighing me down,
but suffocating me in place.

I hear the way that others say
they could quit at any time,
and I believe them; it’s easy leaving,
but they cannot see the fight I’m in;
I cannot let up
or it will win.

One more

I fixate on the heartbeats;
breaths swell like waves in caves.
I time the rise and shy retreat
to assure myself the ends will meet,
cos sometimes it seems to take them too long;
a moment stranded like forgotten songs
left to wonder if one day they’ll ever complete,
should the artist compose for my heart
one more beat.