The days seem long, the years go fast

ephemeral, it cannot last

life, love, the memories you share

dream of forever if you dare;

blink and the present becomes past

the days seem long, the years go fast

the path behind a vivid guide

death lies ahead, you cannot hide;

you gave your life for this moment

was it worth it? Do you own it?

the days seem long, the years go fast

the echos of yesteryear are vast;

do you rejoice in existence?

Meet time's passage with resistence?

Enjoy it all! The die is cast!

the days seem long, the years go fast.

Money doesn’t make the man,

his word does,

but loose lips grow quiet

in dark alleys,

not Nasdaq floors,

so, any decent man

would be detoured

from doing the right thing,

especially one with

mouths to fill

and a roof to keep.

I hang my head low

watching the ground move

beneath me as I walk home.

My pride and ego

both cleansed

by the emptiness of the morning,

but it’s within the shadows that I blend in.

I wear the black for them.

Upon my broken back

they eat their breakfast,

and wash it all down

with discounted milk

and cartoon giggles,

using my stained shirts as napkins.

I don’t care

because as long as they’re full,

they sleep well,

and make it to the bus on time

I am doing something right.

God knows there Ain’t much

I’ve gotten right,

but I’ve never begged, borrowed,

or cheated to survive.

Some do

and some win,

but most pay the price.

Living among the filth

keeps you true,

and most of the time

the truth is all you have—

And being quiet

adds another box on that calendar

to be Ex’d

filling you with the hope

that you’d be lucky enough

to find a way out

before it’s too late.

Even if all the riches

filled every ocean,

today’s children would drown

trying to swim them

because uncharted waters

and false horizons lead to certain death—

But wearing a suit of black

can be a heavy burden

dragging you under just the same,

especially as the riptide of the world

pulls at you.

So, why teach them how to wear that heavy suit?

Because I want them to struggle enough

to learn how to swim upstream,

and be learned enough to know

when the water’s too rapid

to get out.

I want them to hold their breaths knowing

that air will eventually come back

and they will resurface

because every night

they watched their dad disappear into the shadows

always bringing the sunrise back with him.

I want them to know

if he did it

then they could too.

Hard Times

Grief is like snow

Changing things, but

Not for ever they say.

But I say it’s the thaw,

When the black

Of winter, lies as far

As the eye can see

yet stirring beneath

new growth, a pain

worse than death.

© Bernard Pearson

Let my masterpiece

Be the one

That pulls me

Into the ground

Let it be

The one I take

To the grave

David Burdett

6/25/2023

In my flower

Are to drink thy divine

How wonderful

The blossom

In your sunset eyes

Wilting

The color of your time

Into dwelling

The water will spurts

Into a deep

Water

fall

Fall

Falling

Down a galactic core

You can’t trope.

Dark molars falling out of my mouth? Have I lost something precious, and it was time to move on? There’s a strange hand touching mine. I don’t what hand that it is or why it is approaching me. I have to run to escape a barrage of words from an anti-depressant, over-the-counter drug induced person sleeping next to me who related unrelated events, telling stories of what could’ve been but never should’ve happened. I have to escape a barrage of bullets because unkind times are following me everywhere and every things that falls in every place I go is a scare. I wake up sweating from a night’s half-baked sleep wondering where I am when I am faced by a reality that doesn’t fit me, and I try to change the fit but it doesn’t work because life isn’t a shop where fits are fitted. So, I run adapting to what the faithful tell me to adapt to because if I can’t change then I adapt. I feel like everyone is setting me in a trap trying to unravel my vulnerabilities. Their smiles are missiles, their gazes are blames, and their eyes’ avoidance is their guilt and my shame. So, I know that tomorrow I will reach for the unattainable, but it doesn’t matter because I’ve done it before. I know some people say that I can’t have it because I’m not cut out for it and it’s not the man who fits the cloth but the cloth that fits the man. But I know someone who is willing to sign the contract that I am so willing to escape. I tell myself not to sign, but my idle hand is moving inevitably toward the deal with Mephistopheles look-alike, smirk on the outside, brimstone on the inside, both of us wishing things had never come to be. I search for the exit, there’s light at the end of my sleep. I wake and I never escape.

then the grass

firm beneath my feet

seems to become unsteady

he's sure to look for me

every man i see

looks a little bit like him

but i promise i wont die

im not going out like this

but then again im tired

and woth him i'd have a place to stay

but i have to stay strong

and focus on getting away

because though i'd have a bed

i'd have a hard time sleeping

scared of the knife

and he's scared of the secrets i'd be keeping

so off i go into

the woods paranoid and naked

and hopefully find a town

and find a police station

but if i dont

cuz i know i wont

i can say that i tried

if it kills me

i tried

Everything depends on what I do with this blade. I could sink it into the skin and let it all end, here and now. But a tiger is always replaced by a lion. Or should I let a murderer live? I can’t just let him walk away with what he has done, but then again, I am just a barber, doing my job. I am not a murderer.

My hand passes over his chin. It is clean, soft and healthy. I plunge the sharp blade into the basin on the shelf. The warm soap, foaming at my wrist. He gets up and walks over to the counter.

“How much do I owe you”, he asks.

“No charge, Sir”, I reply. I will not take money, gained through service to butchery from this man. My pockets shall remain clean. I shall not shake his hand nor smile at my work. My duty is done.

He smiles and walks towards the door. Opening it, he lets a clawing, musty breeze into the shop. Warm saliva bubbles up my throat and I feel my breath catch deep within. He was so close and I let him go. The door swings shut and I am alone.

And run

The water

For a shave

Strive to reach

For your dreams

Buried behind

Expired ointments

And psyche meds

From collapsed chambers

Through time and space

You are a constructor

Of beggars and angels

Railing against life

Confused and thirsty

Waiting in line

At the liquor store

Yesterday

David Burdett

6/22/2023

Inspired by Robert Frost's Spring Pools

These stars that, though in darkness, still shine bright

Upon the ocean waves that crash down with a fright,

And like the world beneath them, ever so changing,

Will like the world beneath them remain incomplete,

And together remain ever so longing,

Though the two may never meet

The seas that have it in each curled wave

To flood the world and cleanse the grave

Let them think again before they raise their scars

To judge these sinful sparks of life this day

This heavenly earth and these earthly stars

Blessed by the kiss of the wind only yesterday