what he carried
I remembered it
suddenly
when the light
struck the fence
just so
while I smelled
cut grass
and I remembered
my father
taking me outside
in his arms
saying, it’s ok Ben
saying, it’s not your fault
and setting me gently
on the warm sidewalk
by another fence
with that same light
and other cut grass
(I was crying –
a slap)
and I think
there was yelling
inside
while I cried
near the fence
till Daddy lifted me
away from there
and on the drive home
I asked in fear
is that man your brother
and he said no
and now I remember
what my father
could not forget
I did meet my uncle.
Time
When you first told me that we were on borrowed time,
I laughed, taking you in my arms,
Asking from whom it was borrowed.
Now I know.
I know that time is not something we can keep,
Or hoard,
Or stow away.
Time can only be used, or wasted.
And it doesn't go away:
Even when we're gone, each hour, each minute
Will carry on like the last.
I remember when you first told me you loved me
And I laughed and said I love you more.
You said you'd love me to the moon and back
But not to the sun,
Because that would be too much.
I told you I'd love you to the end,
And this is it.
This is the end, and I still love you
Just as much as I did at the beginning.
I borrowed time and now I'm giving it back,
Perhaps a bit worn,
But still usable by some other soul.
Goodbye.
i wonder
how nice it must be
to only battle yourself
but i am tired
of everything,
of everyone
of every word
reused, recycled
into another work
and i can't help
but feel
it's all the same
i am uninspired
by myself, by others and
their blissful bullshit
i'm my own demon,
my own heckler,
my own obstacle
but i wonder
how nice it must be
to only battle yourself,
i wonder what it's like
to still have sickness
and health
because my battle
has left me
with nothing.
inborn
I envy those of us
Who believe they are not artists
For they have so much that lies within
And in their dreams
Bursts of colours of imagination
Fill their subconscious
As they long for morning.
I wish to leave them a pen and paper
For them to write the dreams
So that I can feel their art
Emerge
As they pour their morning fix