in another life we could have been us

we could have been unstoppable

we could have been as legendary as romeo and juliet

we wouldn’t have to be that though, we would just be us

in another life

maybe all the hurt and pain would have worked out

maybe she wouldn’t have tried so hard to wreak what we had

maybe we would have seen our worth before it was too late

myabe one of us would have reached out and said something because we knew what was happening

maybe we would have cared enough

in another world

maybe we could have been happy

maybe in another life you would’ve been happy to be my other half and i you

maybe in another life

but not this one

I am not the captain of my ship

I am an onlooker

Panicking as I watch it drown

No one to steer it

No star to navigate it

And I stand and watch

The sea is merciless

Endless waves crash

Against the compromised hull

Seagulls peck holes in its sail

And it seems the other ships

Their rides are smooth

They look towards me

Helpless on the shore

And ask why I can't, won't

Control my ship

And I look on

Stranded on the shore

All I can do is watch

My ship slowly crash

First, I must admit that I AM a poet… but I wasn’t always. A retired mainframe computer programmer, I wrote computer code and technical manuals for over thirty years. I am now an editor and novelist by trade, since that’s where the paychecks come from, but I am a poet in my heart.

Poetry—free-verse and formed—is an art form. You can enjoy modern abstract art, and still retain a respect for the classic masters. So too, should both forms of written art be appreciated.

Mental gymnastics? I agree, but it doesn’t mean these exercises are performed to display some assumed intellectual superiority. The “rules” aren’t constraining for classical poets, but are challenges to our skill at molding the language into shapes which deliver our message, while staying inside structured lines.

Does this make me less of a communicator?

I hope not.

In the end, the message matters, not the medium.

Where did you go?

Why did you leave me one day,

To fend for myself on my own?

Where do you lurk?

Not behind that mirror there.

Not in the blade that lies around here.

One day you simply disappeared.

And when you backed into the shadows

Did you take away my spine as well?

Because I no longer seem able to sit upright

And look people in the eye.

I feel your absence

As strongly as the loss of a limb

And I'm willing to beg

For you to please, please come back

Because I don't have any self respect

To hold me back

The stranger knocked upon the door,

A creaking, wooden throb,

And someone on the other side

Unlatched and turned the knob.

Uncertainty, a soft, "Hello,"

And, "May I use your phone?"

The person on the other side

Appeared to be alone.

An observation taken in,

No pictures on the wall.

He pointed somewhere down the way-

"Go on and make a call."

The thunder boomed; the stranger stalled

As wires were cut instead.

The gentleman began to sense

A subtle hint of dread.

A conversation thus ensued-

"So what has brought you out?

The rain has flooded everything,

And wiped away the drought.

Say, did you walk, or did you drive?

Why don't I take your coat?"

The stranger slowly moved his arms,

A sentimental gloat.

The water from the pouring skies

Enveloped cloth and shoe.

"Say, would you like a place to sleep?

I'll leave it up to you."

The person on the other side

Discarded his mistrust.

The stranger said his tire was flat,

And shed the muddy crust.

"The phone won't work," he also said.

"It could just be the storm.

Perhaps I will stay here tonight,

To keep me safe and warm."

The patron of the house agreed.

He hadn't seen the wire.

The chilly dampness prompted him

To quickly build a fire.

"You have a name? They call me Ed.

My wife was Verna Dean.

She passed away five years ago

And left me here as seen.

I guess it's really not so bad.

We never had a child.

I loved that Verna awful much,"

He said and sadly smiled.

"No property to divvy up.

The bank will get it all.

Say, do you want to try again

To go and make that call?"

The stranger grinned and left the flame

As to the phone he strode.

Within his pocket, knives and twine

In hiding seemed to goad.

A plan was formed- he'd kill the man;

Eviscerate him whole.

The twine would keep him firmly held;

The knife would steal his soul.

A lusty surge erupted hence;

A wicked bit of sin.

The stranger hadn't noticed yet

That someone else came in.

About the time a shadow fell,

He spun to meet a pan.

The room around him faded out

As eyes looked on a man.

A day or two it seemed had passed,

And when he woke all tied,

The stranger gazed upon old Ed

Who simply said, "You lied."

Reversing thoughts, the moment fled

And Ed said in a lean,

"No worries, stranger. None at all.

Hey, look, here's Verna Dean!"

He looked upon a wraith in rage;

It seemed his little lie

Combusted in a burning fit-

He didn't want to die.

So many victims in his life,

Some fifty bodies strewn.

And now he was the victim; now

The pain to him was known.

The stranger fought against the twine,

And noticed by his bed

The knife once in his pocket left

A trail of something red.

A bowl filled full of organs sat

As Verna poured some salt.

She exited with all of them.

"You know, this is your fault.

We demons wait for just the day

The guilty take the bait

And play with matches one last time-

I simply cannot wait

To taste the death within your flesh;

The venom in your gut.

So now you know the way they felt-

Hey, you've got quite a cut!"

The person on the other side

Removed his human skin-

Before his wife came back for more,

He offered with a grin:

"Say, stranger, is there anything

You'd like to say at all?"

I looked at all the blood and said,

"I'd like to make that call ... "

The boy I planned to ask to prom

Asked another girl to homecoming today

Even though we were just friends

And they might be just friends

And prom is still miles away

I mentally cross his name off my list of one

Being a teenager is only temporary

And sometimes everyone feels alone

But it sure feels like the end of the world

And damn, does it hurt