you sit at that mahogany desk you love
diligently researching paranormal things
you look for an answer in what isn’t clear
sadness is cruel to your feverish heart
you miss me, I know this very very well
I miss you and hold on in this place still
you held me in the last moments of life
I remember all your words and actions
you feel my touch, but I do alarm you so
I whisper in your ear, “Be my lungs, love.”
you look pained and move so violently
I cannot catch you as you fall from me
you left those papers to be with me today
I’m sorry but it had to be this way, my love
you see me now, but there is much horror
I felt that way too, yet the horror will pass
you say, “It was always you here close.”
I say with conviction, “Yes. Always close.”
you look at me and I look you and we see
we see the love we have for each other
She sits by the water.
The river moves by, as fish take a peek every now and then.
“Do they know my broken heart?” she wonders, as nature’s carpet touches her feet.
A clumsy fish wiggles toward her then retreats.
A teardrop falls into the river.
The fish swims away.
In the snow.
The seat is bare, except for you and a few tidy possessions.
You’ve been down this road before; broken and broke.
There’s nothing like poverty to make you feel like you’ve made the wrong choices. Yet, you are liberated now; free on this bench in the snow.
You think, “How beautiful the snow is as it falls. If I was more familiar with words I would articulate this scene with more purpose and beauty, but I cannot convey this. This is a photograph or a painting…”
Still, in the snow, you don’t notice the gun against your head until the jolt ends the falling snow for you.
Your last moments: broke and broken; beautiful and sad; thinking of the falling snow.
What beauty in your death. Death on the bench in the snow full of a fading glow. Until the light turns to darkness. Then you get the chance to do it all differently.
Your chest hurts after the two of you fight, then you feel wretched at the hurt he anchors to the shore again.
You want to be understood, but the words and your overthinking mind both get in the way to betray who you really are.
Your hurting so strongly that your chest aches and your blood boils, as you feel the weight of it all.
His anchor won’t remain in the sea for very long, so don’t throw yourself into the deep waters of emotion;
there’s no need to lose yourself.
It’s only another fight.
You are both humans.
Soon you’ll both return
to your journey on
the sea of your lives.
A lawyer with a love for cooking and longing for sunshine, he cooks when he can. Sad and overworked, he pools all his funds, quits his job and becomes a chef. No more nasty principals with red pens; Now it’s vanilla slices, beef burgundy and banging the sexy waiter.
Hills of green can be seen far and wide, although, down here forever is blind.
The sky is shy today, as he decides that we all need a decent dose of grey without rain.
Winds flow through the castle which once housed our family and our loved hearts.
The sky knows what my heart feels, but he’s always been good at knowing this.
I’ve travelled far and wide to try and escape the pain I feel missing you, but I cannot keep going forever.
The sky tells the rain to hold off. The rain tells the sky to fuck off. How like a married couple these two are in retrospect.
Walking along the Kyle, I know the time nears. How wonderful that after 100 years of your moods, you and I will meet again.
The rain begins to fall. It looks like the rain won that argument. Perhaps I will too.
You were always the kid pushing boundaries. At school, some said you were the “it” kid.
You started to change at fifteen; eccentric cool turned into conservative stoicism.
You receded into yourself and I could not get in, although I tried; now you look through me and not at me.
Where did you go?
I’ve asked myself this question so many times; each answer appears insufficient to me.
Then, we saw your face on the news one hot December morning; you got Tangled in Treason.
You had a beard, wore your hair long, and your eyes looked haunted.
Where did Matthew go?
You lost your uniqueness and that spark; you receded inside and then became something new.
Why did Matthew do?
You had a vest strapped to your chest, as you entered a town square. The explosion sent you to forever or I know not where.
What will become of Matthew?
You killed yourself and a whole town square for them; cannon fodder for a lost cause.
Now, as the rain falls upon my face, I cry for you and your lost soul; it wasn’t worth all of that to die at fifteenth.
I see such a waste of humanity and so much horror to remember you by.