Posts Tagged ‘thoughts’

Love Me Syndrome

Another tempestuous night in Town Park, melancholy

Wild Thoughts, seeks harbor from the fell dampness.

Across an old Maple, restroom facilities, in a stall,

His Swiss Knife carves, help!- a grounded cardinal,

Over faded, besought scratches, then his number.


The windows behold an ashen canvas, dashing away

A lustrous moon, sour lampposts, the path back & ahead,

But in buckets of rain, runs a scarlet damsel his way.

Wild Thoughts escapes on some path, Love Me Syndrome

Skips past roley- poley earthworms stuck in puddles.


The gales deepen in fury. By the Maple, a scarlet,

Melancholy soul runs to the restroom, closes the stall.

She sees unspeakable markings, one freshly concerning.

A knife on the basin, she dials the splintered number,

My name is Lonesome Dove, I’ve waited a long time for you.


A calm develops, drenched footsteps echo anticipations.

The beautiful ones, raised to know what comes & goes,

But not what stays- saturated under fluorescent sight,

They sparkle. Lonesome Dove eases five minutes in.

Your real name isn’t Wild Thoughts. Care to know mine?


From outside, a whip of lightning licks the Maple,

Crackling, thickly green branches smoke up, catch fire.

They ponder a tragic moment. Is it you? He knows, It’s

Me. Tragedy. She flies, red tail vanishing in the rain.


That night, a tornado brewed, ravaging Town Park.

Love Me Syndrome claimed one, but not the other.


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Falling Asleep To the Sound of Rain

The Unconscious lies
In a bed of feathers…
There is no ink,
No blood that can trace back
A stamp of a feeling, just a whim that finally comes
Or just passes.
There is no fear, when this occurs,
Fear is a human’s curse,
Though, an instinctual tool to its survival.

The bed of feathers simply s.t..r…e….t….c…h..e.s
Into a tossing sea,
Where varied shades of yellow
Beaks coast along like shark fins,
Waiting for the glint of
Emerald dragonflies hovering
Just within reach.
The Unconscious floats on.

There is no hope, or woe,
Only close or apart.
A warm, blinking, orange glow,
Like a fly during caution on the glass
Of a traffic light.
There is a rhythm.
A pattern understood,
But to the unconscious,
It’s hypnotic, however, it’s…
At a level just beyond reach.

…………Clouds of ink On the left                                                                            …………………On the right, clouds of blood
……..Glide from the horizon and………
Above The Unconscious.
The sea of feathers buckles under
The stamp of a feeling
The red mixed rain brings,
And the dreamer regains conscious
To the sound of thunder.

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It must feel like the pearl stripped from its mother.

A solar system after losing a star to a gaseous implosion.

The sensation of color seeped from the all seeing eye,

Saying goodbye is the hardest  part.

It keeps your eyes wide in anticipation, anxiety,

Plagues your dreams like a collage of your life.

Saying goodbye is the lost talon to an eagle’s wings,

That spins and flutters until falling in the

Hands of branches, a rampant river,

Or behind the ear of a boyscout.

It makes you look at everyone differently,

This is the last time you’ll see them, treat them

With patience, care, big eyes, and bigger tears.

We say goodbye for various reasons,

Tired of the old, we yearn for something to wake our hibernating souls.

We say goodbye sometimes to hurt others, to make them never forget.

Some know they won’t live forever.

But more-so we say goodbye because we have to.

Forced by the hand of fate, good or bad, it’s change that must occur,

And hopefully endure until a goodbye years from the last.

Change is the next step to saying goodbye, like

Goodbye-change, linked together like chains, a compound word to mean a lot.

But goodbye, change- isn’t saying hello or goodbye at all.

In fact, most people are of goodbye, change type.

Because saying goodbye can really be the hardest part.

It is the casket that is buried, holding your child-

Hood, like a time capsule, only, it’s saying goodbye, not hello someday.

If you dug it up after time, you’d only find bones of the flesh you left there.

It is love, the strongest feeling, we say goodbye, to sometimes,  save others.

It’s love that sometimes is the dark half of a still planet,

That had such beauty to those that knew, now nothing can see through the black.

Love is the thing that keeps you glued to a papery situation,

That is held taught on a bumpy road, that tears, again and again,

But there are no goodbyes.

It’s saying goodbye to love, though, that is truly the hardest part.

When you pull over the car because words are deer in the road,

And as she lets them loose, you’re hardly dodging the first one before hitting the next.

You feel the moon glow and look into her almond eyes, but they’re looking away

To the stars.

Your tears cascade, and your body shuts down, words skip and chop,

Wanting to hide in their turtle shells, but sometimes saying goodbye to love

Is inevitable, when her hands are cold, and she pulls away from your kiss.

It’s saying goodbye to perfect love that once was that is the hardest part.

But saying goodbye is the glass cannon of mixed results.

It could fire off without problems, which rarely happens.

It could shatter from harsh impact and hurt who lit it from behind,

Or it could send you, the ball, rolling to the side,

Somewhere you hadn’t seen or known about,

Readied in the glass barrel.

And that chance is why saying goodbye is the hardest part.

But chance is why we say goodbye at all.

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