struck by lightning sat near a playground,
around the fountain.
A naïve boy
and a handful of feed
tree full of dead sparrows.
bodies not moving,
lifeless eyes all lock in a stare,
brains full of last thoughts.
stood in silence,
moment to each.
a mother was screaming,
heard the stillness of the birds,
to pull the boy away.
His arm was
yanked from the socket,
eyes did not leave the birds.
tucked in safe and away,
He laid in
locked in a stare,
bodies lie next to him.
finally defeats his small frame,
outside sways the tree to one side,
hangs low and it mourns.
hands the tree branches cradles each body.
small graves in his thoughts,
brush dirt over the tops of open graves,
behind his eyes…
A naïve boy
with a handful of feed.
quivered before our last kiss.
our end would bring us quicker to death,
tortured with what we had.
I saw you
again last night,
I laid my
shadow danced on my chest.
how when you close your eyes,
see what you’re trying not to.
tried my best to deprive myself from sleep,
you from making me want to stay…
sleep a lifetime.
attempt to keep busy,
mannerisms stay slow and displaced,
And my eyes
ache to see you.
Put me to
Put me to
ache to see her.
slowly moves down my face and to my chest,
start to dig for something that once was hers,
caresses every inch of the well-worked heart,
violently comes to life….
open to find that I’ve drifted off,
help wondering why I torture myself.
The Sound of Sleeplessness
Everything is ticking.
The room is so warm but yet
my fingertips are ice.
Outside the window the
One and Two and One and Two.
The tree’s branches tap with
rhythm against the roof,
The wind decides to whistle
Thoughts roar through my
My teeth clench,
My eyes clamp close,
Click, Clack, Click, Clack!
A roller coaster awakes
between my ears.
Fix the pillows,
Flip the pillows,
Shuffle, Scrap, Shuffle,
I wrestle the sheets for
They have my legs tangled and
my chest pinned,
I tap out,
My body is too exhausted for
Closing my eyes keeps me more
Dreaming is a distant land,
Rest is a foreign language.
The moon is peeking through
Looking in on me,
It converses with an old
Are you asleep and dreaming?
Am I the only person awake?
Are the night’s sounds only
for my hearing?
I wonder when I’ll sleep.
The Drifter and His Wooden Box
There once was a man who
loved too much. He tied his heart to his sleeve for everyone to share.
There was never a wretch or outcast that wasn’t good enough for his
kindness and friendly conversation. He lived to serve; there was nothing
that you could ask of him that was asking too much. One day as he was
conversing with an elderly lady in the market, he met eyes with the most
enchanting creature. The old woman said to him, "Son, you look like
you’ve seen an Angel." He did not reply. His love walked toward them and
stretched her arms around the old woman, and with a voice from the
heavens she said, "There you are grandmother, I thought I lost you." She
then looked at the man and saw how big his heart was. He looked directly
into her eyes and he was forever her slave. Her name was Constantine.
Her name was Heartless. The man gave his entire heart to her, and she
did with it what she pleased. She made a habit of forgetting it in
different places. It would stay out in a summer’s day, under the sun,
blistered and exhausted, or out in the cold with the lonely moon in the
rain and the wet earth. She would drop it and break it, and crush it and
tear it, but still he lay there on the cutting slab. He loved her too
much and she loved him too little.
The day came where the man
awoke and was missing apart of himself, he searched for Constantine and
for his barely beating heart. He turned the town inside out; he even
searched every place where a heartless dame would go, but no
Constantine. A week later, he received a knock at his door, it was the
Butcher and he was holding something wrapped in cloth. It was the man’s
heart. The butcher had found it in his discard bin, it was barely
love-filled man was now a shell of himself, filled with bitterness and
spite. He sold everything that he had, because everything reminded him
of the miserable harlot that dug his grave. So with the clothes on his
back and his heart in a wooden box, he walked out of his door one night
to never return. He wonders through the dark, never traveling by day,
just him, the moon, and the shadow of a dead man. Some say that they
catch a glimpse of him every once in a long while, but they are never
sure that it is him until they hear the muffled sound of a broken heart
beating ever so weakly against a wooden box.