In the Darkness of an Hour

We can forget who we are,

a simple glance,

a misstep in the halls

the realization that something lost

will not be found, had, held, known

in this our lifetime.

 

In the darkness of an hour,

our sanity,

that which in expression we present

as affect

always the nature of our well-being,

we will show the good side,

to mask the pieces of fabric we cannot mend.

 

If once a suggestion taught otherwise

everything we believe

might seem as improbable

as finding hope and optimism

in the corner drug store

when a child of eight,

looked at the candy bars like heaven.

 

In the darkness of an hour

an anxiety rush,

a spell of wall chasing paranoia,

the notion of …

is this really depression

will forever alter the course of

love

 

Perhaps we might recognize there are minutes.

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When Sadness Prevails

We do,

so often is the time,

travel alone in our state of mind.

Seldom are we together

for that moment shakes the earth

around us all, becomes beyond our own.

 

We look to the sky,

the formative posture

always is a light that shines

no matter the temperate nature

of a befallen odyssey.

That is the piece

if we could share our knowledge,

understand each other’s smile,

rather than remark about vacant promise.

 

Can I stand next to you,

without my own fear becoming

recognized as a nervous response

from a stranger nearby.

Is it possible

to ever feel an assurance

we listen to the same notes,

the keyboard will sing,

and each tear becomes our own.

 

I do live for today,

I would if while my breath

becomes more steadied

always be

just ready, just

ready me for the next task,

that place of opportunity,

we all seem to wish upon a

natural peace.

If We All Wrote A Letter

If we were given a task

we had no choice really,

If we were all told we would need

to compose

ourselves in a letter,

yes that would mean ink on a parchment.

 

We were only given two pages,

both sides could be filled in,

or leave a few spaces empty,

but nothing more,

limit your ideas to just

a couple of pages.

 

If we could all be told to write

two pages about our needs,

how many of us do you think might lie,

instead of being honest with our needs,

we might let our selfish lives interfere.

 

I wonder if given the chance,

and instructed without severity that

the reader

might actually listen to what was said,

I have to really be curious,

if we could meet some needs,

create some restful moments,

reduce some anxiety,

perhaps, in a matter of words,

we could solve an issue …

 

We’d have to really know the issues though.

Without Recall

I sometimes find a chuckle in my thinking,

it was like this before,

I say to myself,

and wonder about the eyes around me.

Do they know the same things I do,

or are they there too,

are we all part of this constant query,

this aspect of not really understanding

why we do live amongst the rocks and treees,

why birds when they shelter our storm,

with melodic sweet song,

how do we give the grace of pause,

to help us suddenly realize why.

 

I often cannot really recall,

when it was I began to think

with such concern,

in constant agony,

within a certain time-frame,

of suggesting,

this is the way it always has been,

has to be,

has become after years of trying to figure it out.

I know some that have … and my envy allows me to realize

I am not alone with such disparate thinking.

This Is Rage

Inside the confusion of not knowing why

the walls seem bare,

with little written proclamations,

without guidance,

this is the rage that always remains,

I call it depression,

seems an easy term nowadays,

more and more people are buying into it,

oh yeah, I suppose that has to do with his

depression,

I’d imagine her behavior has only evolved because,

she’s depressed.

Again, the walls part,

they remain, and sometimes I’d like to walk through,

in fact,

rip apart everything I own,

if only for a minute,

I could feel satisfied,

I could feel like this is all worth while,

the anxiety, the pills, the drugs, the experments,

the rejections, the loss, the victory, the sunset,

and always that wait to be sure the sun

will rise again.

What if it didn’t I mean really,

what if he did become our President,

and how terrible would it be

if suddenly the TV stopped broadcasting

everything it is they wanted us to hear,

every word they decided wold be stated tonight,

what if then we suddenly became the pawn,

we feared we might be already,

what about the chance to never anticipate why?

I try to pass that off as rage.

Tangible Evidence

Do we care about each other

as much as we did when we were kids,

or our parents were actually kidding,

when suggestions were made,

referencing passages from certain books,

‘love thy neighbor’ or some tripe

commentary that apparently was meant,

to guide us through the backyards

of a precarious, well-shielded youth.

 

So now today, I in an annual,

a memory of purpose,

the occasion arises with frequent

consistency.

I cherish the words of my elder,

give grateful pause to their

gracious truths.

Because when I step out the door,

the world seems eerily strange.

 

I wouldn’t object to ten minutes,

not even the Warhol fifteen,

just part of a quarter hour

to refresh my memory

with how easy it was,

how I felt so safe,

inside the eyes of people

who seemed to care about

life.

I Watch The News Every Day

I discovered recently,

a day away

isn’t enough to take it away.

I’m speaking of the pain,

the heartfelt agony.

 

I watch it because we have to

stay connected,

contribute,

be the purveyor of hope,

allow our selves to become one.

 

I find it rather easy

to understand the anchor heads,

the messengers,

all appear content to deliver

similar themes, purposeful tragedy.

 

I wonder if they might ever

find themselves in here, this place,

this world amongst all of our dreams,

a place we listen,

and often express with great bravado.

 

I do realize that even now,

the man standing next to me,

could be the one,

he might be carrying a gun,

yet maybe this isn’t the time.

 

I seldom imagine the woman

in all of her elegance

a sharp eye and focus on

a compassionate end of the day,

would ever threaten our world.

 

Yet, just the other day,

the talking heads

mentioned there were terrorists

amongst us today,

without gender distinction.

 

I’m not suggesting anything,

I don’t wish to end on a

sour note,

there is far enough discrepancy

to allow her skeptical heart to ache.

 

I might only speak to the confusion,

the errant need to negotiate

what’s important to my day,

based upon their word,

when if I could just walk away …

 

“I read the news today, Oh boy”

… and even he was dead,

we heard the news

only to find another reason to cry.