cranial silica

images etched
in the sands
of my mind
slowly falling
through
the hourglass
that measures the
moments
in regular beats
like a heart
less human
undying
unforgiving
unspoken
from the mouth
of the river
of time
in the canyons
of experience
sailing
down the stream
of consciousness
listening
to the echoes
the melodies
of memories
recording
the images
etched
in the sands

Empty: the lonely artist

each word
a tiny piece of the puzzle
irregular edges
that somehow form
the picture
only I can see

each verse
a thread in the tapestry
woven together
by a skilled mind
and vivid
imagination

each stroke
of the mental brush
on metaphorical canvas
highlights perfect use
of color
and innate sense
of wonder

each form
fills
the void

in


me



briefly

Father and Father Revisited - Your Day

Father

“Why didn’t you ever guide me”, I asked?
“He said there were no maps of the heart
And the journey is yours only”
It took years to understand the wisdom he shared
And he...
…never turned a deaf ear
…shared his time
…never turned me away
…comforted me


I wish it was real
In my dreams, you were a father
The dialog was imagination
You never said that much, ever
Why weren’t you there
Instead of hiding in plain view
Suspicious, greedy
Needy and childish

Why weren’t you my
teacher, my guide
One to reveal the secrets of the world
To show the right’s and wrongs,
Display the tendency of love

Where were you?

Father Revisited - Your day

Your wondering where your card is, aren’t you?
Ironic since I wondered where you were all my life
Not physically, just mentally, emotionally
You weren’t there

I think back -
Have you ever sent me a Father’s day card?
Not one that mom picked out and signed,
But one you picked out, with words you wanted to express?
Have you ever signed any card for me?
Maybe that wasn’t your station in life
Maybe that was someone else’s responsibility
Something beneath you, not your place
Or perhaps you just don’t know how

Yet, on your birthday, you’ll
Bitch if my card doesn’t get there
(why do you think I send such nasty ones?)
And you’ll complain if there’s no gift
Like a child
So much like a child

You don’t call on my birthday
(Do you even know my phone number, my address, my birthday?)
You don’t contact me at all

Yet I’m supposed to know better
I’m supposed to be the better person
I’m the one to make all the contact
Down this one way street

It’s very easy to do, though
And I’ll tell you why

You taught me well


I just do everything you
Wouldn’t do

And I’ll be ten times the father
You ever wanted to be

Happy Fathers Day
You bastard

beauty

To just look at her isn't enough;
one needs to view her from all directions and distances,
up close
far away, the incredible profile,
and examine her features
like a fine artifact or precious sculpture worthy of any museum;
Without trying, her beauty effortlessly captivates
her sensual lines, painfully exquisite
In the purest form, natural and untouched,
timeless and alluring
her beauty caresses my heart
like a fragrant spring breeze awakens the senses
with colors, tastes, textures and songs

my soul, my being cries out to her
for
she is beauty

Echoes of the dead

Shadows of the living passing by
With a faint nod, or polite smile

In between those shadows
You can hear what’s been said
If you listen close enough
To the echoes of the dead

The faintest whisper of her favorite perfume
The sound of his favorite album in the living room
Above the things that we most dread
The echoes of the dead

Shadows of the past flitter by
Catch them from the corner of your eye

Underneath those shadows
You can hear what’s being said
If you listen to
The echoes of the dead

The barely audible cry that fades with the wind
The comfort of knowing that death isn’t the end
Believe that there is something more ahead
If you listen to the echoes of the dead

Shadows of what was, once, and what will never be
Finding hope while I’m still here, something to believe
I keep listening
To the echoes of the dead

Alone

Alone
And I don’t wish to be
I’d rather hold her hand
Enjoy her company
Us, alone

The rain beats steadily on the shutter
the rhythm sends me deeper
my mind is all cluttered
I seek and I find her
In a field of broken dreams
I see her beauty and smile
What can all this mean?
She’s been comatose for years
The needle took her away from me
Why these vision in the darkness?
Why is life such a mystery?
We were happy, in love
The days filled with vibrant life
But she couldn’t satisfy the need
She couldn’t be my wife

Alone now
My mind clears as the tears fall
The rain stops pouring
I wish I could erase it all
Make it go away
The machine seems the only thing alive
I hold her pale unmoving hand
Why can’t they let her die?
Her family is not ready to let her go
Let her die with a little dignity
But they cling to hope, and she lies
Hooked to the damned machine
I’ve felt so tempted
To set her free
Turn off the power
And end the misery
It’s not my place to, though
It’s not my choice to make
I would have made it long ago
For her imprisoned sake
There will be no recovery
She’ll always be this way
Yet there is some hope for me
I must learn to carry on
Live life as I should
Do the things we liked to do
Enjoy life like she would
It’s hard to move quickly
I have to move real slow
Take time for me to adjust
And let my feelings go
She's become an angel now
Even though the machine makes her breathe
She watches over me, I feel it
She sees exactly what I see
I lived for her these past few years
Now I live for me
I know she understands
That’s how she wants it to be