Sharing the Ride

I’m unsure what pain lies ahead, 
and I choose not to stand around 
worrying about it. That’s what 
makes rollercoasters so frightening - 
standing there in a long line 
while time and screams go by.
But I can address old pain,
the kind where we can set our jaws,
maybe even make a small tight grin,
and say, “Yeah, it was bad.
But I survived.” See how it feels 
weaker as time and the memory 
of those painful cries go by? 
I wish we didn’t have to suffer 
when there's no one to ride with us 
as scared, scary life screams, or worse, 
just stands there, while we pass. 
I see you bought a ticket, too. 
Please, give me your hand.
I'm afraid this might hurt.

The Waiting Waiting

This waiting waiting is killing me, 
but so might that I’m waiting for.
And I’m feeling quite alone again,
though with you there, not as much anymore.
So I retreat to where alone’s my standard,
to bang on this keyboard one more time.
Where I speak to you in clicks and moans
and, unfortunately, in stupid rhyme.
But I’ve gotten further down the page
than I did the other five times I tried.
At least I killed some waiting time,
better those minutes than me that died.
And though I wish I could rest next to you
or you other than in my mind with me.
Perhaps this time I’ve learned to love
waiting for nothing to happen. We’ll see.

When the Sun Finally Came Out

Remember when we’d lodge complaints 
with each other about the dark clouds 
that followed us everywhere, back 
when all we needed memories for 
was what time we had to be back, 
instead of what we might’ve been.

There were some sunny days 
back then, too. Even I can recall 
squinting at how it pinked 
your shining cheeks and gave 
my own nervous flush a glowing 
alibi of plausible deniability.

Recall how the breeze would cast
a field of diamonds like miniature suns
across the lake's glassy surface?
Then it would rustle the leaves, hiding 
and unveiling the gold dust in your eyes,
a magic trick that was no illusion.

But it was an illusion I remember best
of those shining days, when the sun
revealed what we didn’t yet understand.
It joined the shadows of our hands in a bond 
later hidden by those dark clouds and we only 
grasped once our storms pushed through.


I sit here and imagine
what it would be like,
the thing I have such trouble 

The images come like snippets
from a movie or TV show,
only I can feel the warmth
in them.

Or sometimes my imaginings
have no visions, only feelings
like a faint heartbeat I sense
on mine.

But it’ll never be.

What if I’m merely the hopeful
figment of someone else struggling
to imagine me in their

Maybe that’s why I have
such trouble bringing forth
what it would be like
if only…

“If only”s don’t happen when you 
just hope, even if you did just feel 
your heart's warmest ever

Or so I imagine.

Cherish This Present If Tomorrow I Become Your Past

I could tell you stories about the future 
if I only knew what the future times hold. 
But my time’s running down, I may not have 
much future left. So no such stories'll be told.
But I can tell you about some of my past,
at least what I felt of it way back when.
My recall might drift from real to dreamed,
so fantasy might be the genre I'll use of then.

These remembered stories are built of words
strung on these lines like sheets on a rope.
But if you really listen, and look between them,
you’ll understand my past was lined with hope.
These days I remember a face but can't the name,
I'll even see it when I detect a certain scent.
I feel that warm touch, hear a certain voice, 
but not know if it's true or what they meant.

Right now I’m cradling a picture in front of me
in black and white of someone I never knew.
Yet the feelings I’m feeling when I look in her eyes
are almost the same as those I got from you.
So I’ll cherish the image of this beautiful girl
even if her name I didn’t know until today.
And if tomorrow I might become part of your past,
I’ll cherish this present more than I can say.

Peace Like Grass in an Old Shell Hole

I can tell this war isn’t over yet,
despite swords sheathed and rifles in a stack.
I still feel the hot blood pound in my head
which they’d gladly sever with a back-turned hack.

They've called a truce, a temporary thing,
a pause in hostilities until then.
What’s then? Do we wait for a bell to ring? 
No, I’m sure it’ll be them tells us when.

The other side’s used to having their way,
gives them perverse joy to keep us at war.
They’ll keep up an act of good will, then say,
enough of this “make nice.” Peace is a bore.

Yeah, that’s how it is with this type of foe,
a bully, a narcissist or a thug.
They sometimes hate themselves, but then, you know,
feel better after squishing you like a bug.

Hey, for now, maybe they’ll keep that concealed,
‘cause they use charm and lies as weapons, too.
When it’s over you can walk off that field.
But, just in case, I’ll watch your back when you do.

A hush will come on that front of your soul,
your wounds will fade like the ink on this rhyme.
Like nature reclaims the battle's shell hole,
love will bring your scarred heart peace. Love and time.

Tap, Tap, Tap, It’s Me Again

I’m tapping on your window again, 
to see if I can come in.
It’s a silent knock, unless you’re 
listening, for me above the din.
My rap travels from here to there 
and there and there to you.
And if you hear it, you can decide 
just what you want to do.
I have this habit of telling the truth, 
it’s hard for me to lie.
If you’re reading, you know it’s true, 
‘cause you’re looking right in this I. 
If you need more time, I can wait, 
I’ll not put up a fight.
I’ve patience, enough to burn, doesn’t have 
to be next year or tonight.
You’ve nothing to fear, I’ll always be here,
faithful as old dogs, if you seen them.
That’s my message, written in these lines 
and maybe a little in between ‘em.

The Light You Shine for This Blind I

Perhaps it would make you laugh, 
or shake your head and wonder why, 
but no one would be able to see 
these words without the light 
you shine on them. Not even I. 
Even in our darkest times,
I’ve found illumination in your
presence, your soul-light shine 
from over my shoulder.
I tried writing in the dark, 
smearing what felt like 
letters upon the night air. 
But they’d be gone by morning, 
like dreams forgotten when
I’d awaken and find nothing 
but emptiness all about me.
So this is all about you, 
the dawn and noon and sunset glow, 
the land and water and sky,
the he and she and they and them,
that you are to this otherwise blind I.

Alone All Along

Remember those days 
when we dreamt solitude 
in the midst of our daily chaos 
would be such a gift?
Now we know it was all just a dream. 
In our own ways, we were always
alone. And always crushed by the crowd.
You, fighting your way
past that throng of voices 
never giving you solitude, 
and I, lone as that looping hawk, 
writing everyone’s life and death stories 
on the clouds, ever searching for 
the shadow of my desire 
to trigger another dive
at that dreamy silhouette.
As I got closer, though, 
I always found it was mine…
alone...all along.