February 2011



Never ignore your poetry blog .
It knows where you sleep.


Monday, October 06, 2008

Leftovers, just wanted to finish this poem I started it over a month ago

Can language lie in the eyes?
What does it mean? Where will it go?

A blend of brown, gold & experience...
You stare at me with intent but you don’t let me see it.

I turn listless, answerless & volatile.
If there is an easy answer I will not ask the question
If there was an easy answer you would know not to tell me,

It's my own bad nature
I am the one who started this puzzle, made it fractured
a million tiny pieces begging to be reassembled
a million tiny fears add more pieces,
they cut me deep in the chest.

I dream of you with no closed doors, no broken pieces
Under a blanket holding me...
Calm and easy I quiet my own voice

And the puzzle and the hell and the tears and the apathy,
they all melt under the heat of the blanket and the only pieces
that I need to worry about is your hand in mine.

Love will teach itself to me when I am ready.

1 comment:

trudatman said...

but, come morning, I'm alone under this blanket....