When I Cannot Breathe

There becomes a slight pang,

grows with each sense of desire

perhaps some might call it pain,

yet this speaker would suggest a small fire.

There becomes that need to understand,

yet the clock ticks its metered reality,

and the notion, the ideal, some aspect

of hope,

is filtered down again,

to a one-time solution that never satisfies.

We can sit here all day long and spout off about

success, recovery, decent appraisal of our lives today,

though the path seems clear, still we wander,

when turbulent seas settle in to the mind,

there must be some reaction, an outlet, a place

to land the angst we have so often gained control of

in the past.

Yet, I want to be here,

this present of serenity,

this presence is all I ask.

How might we figure out some way

to address the constancy of

of

of

inherent failure modeled around

a sometime human compassion.

Other time a stigma whose most powerful advocate

must be the man, the woman, child,

the benefactor of resource gone awry.

There it is then, that transference is well on its way.

Get thee to a session old man,

Get thee to a human factory of love.

8 Years

gambling

Eight years ago, I stood by your side,

listening to your story,

wondering how life could become

such a travesty of pain and confusion.

I felt fortunate to not struggle your loss,

that loss of confidence,

that departure of reasoning,

the ability to throw your life away

without a second’s thought,

all for the mantra of a seething monster.

~

Eight years ago, I stood by your side,

telling my story,

how life had dealt me difficult times,

how my chances were failing,

how suddenly I no longer knew what gambling meant.

I only knew despair, fear, and grandiose notions,

of survival, of playing the game, of beating the odds.

When before I judged the world around me,

today’s court included me,

ownership and honesty knocked on my door.

~

Today, I do stand by your side,

and I am grateful,

but there is no credit in my arena,

that belongs to the power of giving,

all of you my recovering souls,

all of you that wake with every glorious day,

to proclaim to the listening voices,

‘today, I didn’t gamble, today I am clean!’

Today, I rise with each waking sun,

knowing I have been gifted with harmony.

~

Eight years ago, the urge to gamble, an insidious addiction,

suggested my life would be better if I stood next to all of you.

If I Could …

… I might just decide to disappear,

like a folktale that doesn’t receive

recognition.

I don’t really wonder about outcome,

that’s not the point actually,

that’s more the reason I just cannot

step off the ledge and fly away today.

Now do trust me conscience when I speak to you,

I will not forgive a soul that believes me,

for this is a fantasy and what better way

to create a story than allow some conflict

to raise some particular alarm.

Imagine if when the dust settled there was nothing wrong,

and the world would continue at a normal beat,

you know, listen, if you bend your ear close,

you’ll get the rhythm – it really hasn’t changed

since whenever a man and woman

discovered their seductive parts

would create more … conflict.

Yet when the ashes do finally blow away

in the wind like the old song goes,

there will be too many memories that remain,

too many moments that suggest

that purpose piece we all struggle to discover

remains a pleasant blue, an iridescent glow

that calms everyone at the end of the day.

So hug me with your words, I will stick around

to watch her grow, to see him succeed,

to share my world with you,

the challenges that give me pause.

If I could … I’ll be right by your side.

Let’s watch the sunrise together, again.

If Words Could Free

If words could free the missing

from the perils of their unknown pain

we might see the streets filled again

with laughter, children, delightful screams.

If words could free the lonely

longing stares in sideways mirrors,

drifting time zones, hurtful glances

might dissipate with passion in our hearts

If words could free the angry

we might see less of the fury

of disconnected families; of nations

wondering why it became so ugly

If words could free the back alley argument,

the ones where people yell

long before they ever understand

we might know a different sort of peace

If words could free the ignorant mind

that seeks to destroy their neighbor

for the color of their skin, we might

then know the reality of humanity.

If words could free the politics

of living with our own beliefs,

then maybe someday we might

understand the human condition.

If words could free we might know love.