Watching The Snowy Night Sky

I’ve been waiting all day for the snow,

now I glance my window,

it arrives with a light affection

reminds me of my childhood

perhaps a memory that haunts me more than love

the delight of family,

the anticipation of a gathering,

the death of a cousin,

where in my silent fog of misunderstanding,

I watched the burial of a loved one,

while treetops echoed the reminder of snowy limbs,

the sort of day we might play,

but instead we watched a passing of life,

confusion, anger, loss, and tears were rife

on this day I watched my cousin laid into the wintry earth.

 

So tonight, I watch the sky again,

a quiet reminder of how our lives

are sweet in their ties to memory,

of love, of pain, of the loss all so bittersweet.

 

The snows are beautiful though ever so brief

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In My Comfort Zone

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It is where I am every day,

my comfort zone,

I give a glimpse into the world

I see,

every hour of my day,

until the sun does set,

hues change, sky becomes a darkness outside

I cannot see as readily.

 

Until the morning comes,

then in rain or sunshine, the view the same,

I always see the leaves in summer,

in winter the naked branch, the neighbor’s home,

I see this every day,

it is in my comfort zone …

 

Where no bombs exist,

shattered windows, glass explodes,

the screams of children barely two,

barely recognizing a reason to fear,

yet they endure,

a daily barrage of human agony,

a tragic reality leaves a shell now,

where a window frame once gave a shield

to the weather, the mortars, the terror, the wind …

carries evil’s wares inside the shadows.

 

It is where I am every day,

my comfort zone,

I give a glimpse into the world,

I see …

 

When Childhood Seemed Innocent

We would play, for hours in May,

anticipating the summer day,

those opportunities ahead that contained

no worries, no stress, no school remained.

 

I remember our time spent on the court

the roundball, and later building a fort

we camped in the woods across the fields,

we lived for all the beauty that nature yields.

 

I remember thinking the sun would last

forever as we our own artist’s sketch cast,

running through the day light hours with ease

only needing to answer with occasional pleas.

 

I remember thinking that nothing really bothered

me in my neighborhood, love was always preferred.

I recall knowing there was a life away from mine,

saw it on the news, the fights, the police siren whine.

 

They were fighting in the streets all of everyone

throwing bricks and callous names toward anyone

who seemed to be indifferent to wanting to love

we couldn’t ever the hate we felt rise above.

 

I was ten years old when I first experienced ugliness

I received only confusion to be the answer nonetheless

I kept thinking about all the things I cared about

and suddenly my love for distraction became devout

 

In the meantime though the sidewalks began to fill

with all the hopes and dreams of those who will

eventually want to know the same things I do,

the same freedoms, the similar romances to woo.

 

Yet there in the quiet night of a sunset on strife

we can all realize we’re the sole cause of this life

A Melancholy Reality

I know it’s sad,

meant to be,

difficult to imagine telling the truth,

with any happy inclusive hypocrisy.

Stand with me, if only

for a quiet moment,

feel the pain,

confusion turned to empathy,

a wondrous feeling of

empty promises.

There is that shallow reckoning,

comes with open eyes,

a solemn reality,

when in a sudden moment of fear,

the human condition rears its ugly –

oh it is trauma in the highest regard,

that when we decide

an internal messenger

will again treat our state of mind,

with such callous disfavor.

Can you see it – if you look closely,

there is a shadow of torment in the light of the moon.

Whose Fight Is This?

When did the word respect become

a distant memory.

Whenever the wind blows a certain way,

do we have to only comply.

While a thought crosses the mind of a quiet soul,

we might think of another’s low.

~

The other afternoon,

I noticed them gathered together,

realized their fortune to be each other

only for that moment,

nothing more,

once the time passed, their world

belonged to whomever decided to accept

or perhaps continue to circumvent.

~

Do we know each other,

do you understand my peril,

have you any idea what we feel,

on any given day, even Saturday.

For how long will you wreak

havoc upon your state of mind.

When might the time arrive,

when suddenly you compromise,

how might a heartache benefit

from a moment of compassion,

nothing agenda driven of course,

yet only certainly an element of love.

~

I would give you my world if only

your smile would be real

if only,

if when you realize there is beauty

in understanding pure humility.

I do get it though, ‘check your ego at the door’

is such an exhausting reality to live by.

Much adventure ahead while you release

your venom within a community of peace!

Falter Freely

Would that I might understand the freedom of error

that part of my life I seem to want to always forget

I will indicate no survival from this constant terror,

the holding of my human condition might I beget.

~

When just yesterday I smiled and laughed out loud,

tonight again will this tunnel vision soon assail

any thoughtful remedy, perhaps a linen shroud

with a transparency to allow humanity’s¬†love to sail

~

along uncharted waters, those land masses we shy

from when confronted with the reality of our game.

Is it that simple to imagine just one reason why

our lives held in a chasm of indifference seem tame.

~

I was crossing the road to find my new composure,

having discovered the ill effects of raw exposure.

If There Were No Tears

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We couldn’t celebrate our love

We wouldn’t know if there was loss

We would forever be drawn to nothing

We would be simply nothing

for with tears live our emotions,

for with tears we become alive within ourselves

for with tears we can reach a climactic end to the suffering,

– perhaps only to live within the carnage by choice –

if we could not show tears, we would be the zombies we choose to ignore,

yet the value of a cleansing cry leaves hope,

yet the value of a quiet release gives opportunity to know

yet the value of a screaming paradox of lost love allows another to take your place.

for within our tears is a pool of thoughtful love

to know we live in each other’s eyes, rather than a barren wood,

we do delight to feel such joy that brings our tears

we do need to let go of all the hurt and pain and grief with zeal,

we do know our love in tears can become real.

If there were no tears I would change my music

If there were no tears …

my eyes would be dry.