Thursday, September 22, 2016

Walking on the Fence

Walking on the Fence

I was walking on the fence of life
With no ground close in sight,
All I could see, from side to side,
Was a landscape barren of life.
The darkness spread around me,
My only saving grace was the fence
That stretched forever in front of me,
But my future was full of suspense.
Too scared to look behind me
But there was nothing to see ahead,
Just a big, black wall of confusion,
To the slaughter I was being led.

But then your hand pushed through the dark
And the fence forked to each side,
After a moment of indecision
I finally made up my mind,
So I grasped your hand and followed you
Along a different path
And suddenly I started to see
A field of flowers and grass.
Where before there was only darkness
A future began to unfold,
I found a way back to the light
And happiness finally took hold.

We will dance through the field of flowers
Forever side by side,
And any sort of darkness found
I will fight with you as my guide,
And always I will guide you
If you lose sight of the light,
I'll reach through the wall of darkness
And together we will fight
So no longer will we walk the fence
Struggling to find balance in life,
No more wavering back and forth
Together we'll fight through all strife.

My Sun

My Sun

Before - I thought I saw the Sun
Shining down - across my face,
I thought I felt the warmth - at least
But it turns out - that was not the case.

I thought the Sun - might be peaking out
From behind the - Sunset's rusted clouds,
That Hope was on the distant horizon,
But They turned out to be others in the - crowd.

And then I thought - that possibly -
All I was seeing - was the Moon -
Just a - Dimly - lit reflection
That would always leave - too soon.

I thought I'd never - See - the Sun,
That the Moon was - all - I'd see,
But unexpectedly the Sun - came out
Dancing Brightly in front of me.

At first it was so - blindingly Bright,
My vision was filled with spots,
That left - Darkness - in my eyes
Though my chest felt strange - and hot.

But once my vision started to clear
And all I could see was You -
I wanted to cry, I wanted to fly,
I am lost with no chance of rescue.

I see the Light, it's oh so Bright,
Now my heart is soaring fee.
I know I can fly, and now I will try
To keep you forever with Me.

I Have No Words

I Have No Words

How can I even put in words
The way you make me feel,
This squeezing feeling in my chest,
My heart you chose to steal.

I smile -- I grin, ecstatically,
Though I'm not quite sure why.
This strange new feeling of happiness
I have no words to describe.

You really only have to smile
And gently hold my hand,
I want to laugh, and grin, and giggle,
A feeling I don't understand.

Not to say that I'm complaining,
I've just never felt this before,
I'm so glad I get to feel this way
And spend time with you, who I adore.

I'm afraid this is the best I can do
To express to you how I feel,
Romantic words now fail me
My head now spins and reels.

But the one thing I can say to you
With utmost certainty,
"I love you so with all my heart"
And this I guarantee.

Eulogy for Nate

Eulogy For Nate
9/22/2016 (ish)

Nate is dead, Nate is dead –
Pushing up daisies in a flower bed.
Worked too hard to earn his bread,
Ended up taking the slack instead.

Nate has died, Nate has died –
Took too much damage to his pride,
Fell down dead upon the line,
The team broke down and the managers cried.

Nate had tried, Nate had tried –
To got against the rising tide,
But the managers would not follow his guide
So Nate fell down and his ass got fried.

We lost our friend, lost our friend –
But now down that path we'll all soon tread
As the wave of incompetence starts to spread
The whole line just might soon be dead.

To my dear love who lost his life
Who as a ghost now hides our knives
So in a moment of panic and strife
We can't possibly take one anothers lives.

His ghost still laughs, you can hear it laugh –
When you walk in and go to the back.
But if you cannot hear his laugh,
Beware his wrath, beware his laugh.

(He's not really dead, no truly dead,
He's not coming back to get revenge,
Chances are he's safely in his bed

Looking to the next day with dread.)

Thursday, February 25, 2016



What kind of Mask - do you put on?
What kind of Mask - have I?
And is it a Mask an observer
Could easily push aside?

It is -- you say? How charming.
Do you -- Honestly -- believe that's so?
I find your argument - lacking --
Because of the things I know.

My Mask is - one of Smiles -
It doesn't often crumble away.
I often push aside my Hurt,
This Mask I wear everyday.

The casual observer won't notice,
Or even - Care - to look.
And even the ones' I Love the most --
My pain most overlook.

So don't tell me your mask is obvious,
Stop -- Lying -- to yourself --
Because it hurts and hurts and nothing works --
And it further wounds your soul -

A Good Story

A Good Story

Truly, the thing I love the most
Is a story.
A story well told -
Something few really appreciate --
Life stories
Are the things I love the most.
A life story is a sad thing to lose --
Pass it down,
Send it on,
So it won't be lost.
So tell me a good story -
One with hurt,
Fear --
So I have a good story
And a piece -- of you --
After you leave.

The Storyteller - Lost History

The Storyteller - Lost History

The Story of a person's life
Is honestly quite -- fleeting.
How easy it is to misplace or lose
To not find again - completely.

Though other's know -- small pieces
And parts of another's - life,
That is all --- just a chunk
Of someone else's strife.

Though we can shift through the dirt -
Dig through -- the memories
Trying to fit pieces together
In a single - crafted - story,

Like archaeologists -- we guess
Upon the meaning of the pottery.
A crucial piece is missing --
Our guesses are mere snobbery.

The other's thoughts are replaced,
We can only - guess - at what
Someone else may be thinking
And the - truth - of the matter is
That that really isn't adequate.

The Storyteller of that life is
The only - one - who can make it clear,
With no pieces missing, or shattered,
So we can hold that loved one dear.

The person who truly -- lived it --
It must be them - the Storyteller.
Because honestly who else can supply
A clear and detailed picture.

And without that precious knowledge
Of who you are and were - those left
Must uproot the flowers you planted
To find the remains you kept.

In Loving Memory of my Grandmother who recently passed away.