When We Imagine Death

Oh we fantasize,

the quiet, the sleep, the no longer

active duty

of being on the same page

 

When we imagine,

we often paint a pretty picture

because in our mind

anything is better than this,

we have forgotten everything.

 

When we allow ourselves

to go into the murky waters of

self-destruction,

we purposely ignore

the beauty around us.

 

I wonder why it is

that when I would rather be

asleep,

i do forget the beautiful faces

surround me every day

 

I suppose it is because

they are beautiful aren’t they

and yet,

their soul, their heart,

that passionate embrace

 

That piece of their lives

is meant for someone else,

and mine,

my mystique my muse my lover

is beyond my reach

 

So then I believe

that is what it is

the final response

to knowing we cannot achieve

the peace we know,

 

So instead we imagine death,

for in its absolute,

we can now begin to relax

stop trying to reach …

Stepping In Front of Buses

It happens,

people don’t plan it,

don’t even imagine

the possibility

of being hit by a bus.

 

Think about the metaphor

a train, a subway, an 18 wheeler

each one a massive

expedition of extreme power,

capable of changing lives.

 

can you visualize an instant

when suddenly everything

you believed just a second before

changed

dramatically with no altering solution.

 

she, he, they, all of them together

stepped in front of the bus

bodies tossed

with little regard for landing,

only the reality of lifeless endings

 

I remember when I was a kid

her name was Mary,

apparently with her dogs

both of them lost as well,

she caught between two trains

 

We all grieve those we love

we need to realize their moments

of love and endearment

are meant as signature compliments

to their lives being a part of our own.

This Being The Year

my decision made,

I went many years

living this

imagining this

something that never became

 

I met you

I realized truth

I went through hell one time

I swore I never would again

now here we see

this is our destiny

 

Leaving again she said

listen to the winds

they are meant to be …

 

I cannot agree

the selfish part of me

gave myself

now I am alone

 

The winds of change

were not meant for you and me

The winds of change mean

 

stay this one together …

this being the year

 

~ I’ve found my way ~

goodbye my love

Was This The Plan

Hurt the other

so the pain

might buffer the wane

that wonder of

why, how, when

whatever it might be

a necessary end

between two evils

meant to accentuate

beauty

for in elegance

in love

indeed that sweet resonate caress

is often found

the agony

we do wish to move beyond

… and we did that without a finish …

 

doors open to reveal this our illusion

 

Is This Scary or Poetry

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I would like to off myself,

be a folk hero,

you know

that person they talk about

around the festive holiday,

old gramps ignores the dialogue,

‘tell me about his brother’

they would say,

and dad would then purse his lips

and speak of some seedy hotel in Florida,

he never named the city,

because then that would make the city

more real and attainable

then an entire state

filled with city hotels,

seedy ones you know.

 

They found him,

dead on the mattress,

no romantic ending

just a couple of bottles or rye

no note

no pajamas

the bedding hadn’t even been turned

his body spread eagled,

one bottle laying in the corner

the other looked methodically

dropped out of his passed out hand.

 

I suppose the coroner

would have looked him in the eye

and said something like

“i’never seen a more peaceful looking corpse”

he’d found his end,

the battle won

a seedy hotel in Florida,

wearing khaki’s and a white t-shirt

not exactly dressed for the beach.

 

of course this was locked inside the mainland,

the ocean miles away, would have just made waves.