The Dreamer

The Dreamer

We met in someone else’s dream,
bit players
in a dance through ever changing landscapes.
Our eyes met
when The Dreamer wasn’t looking.
I ran to you,
but The Dreamer woke
and I found myself
alone in a cold and empty room.

I searched for you
behind every stranger’s smile
the eyes were never yours.

The Dreamer slept
and I saw you through
cotton-candy-clouds.
I was a giraffe
you a dragon.
I knew you by your eyes.
We held hands by a lake
in the forest of someone else’s mind.
I leaned to kiss you
and The Dreamer woke.
I was alone in a room,
with a faint smell of perfume.

The Dreamer slept again
and you were astride my back.
My hooves plodding out a
syncopated rhythm.
You chatted with the queen
absently stroking my mane.
Then in an instant I was a falcon
perched on The Dreamer’s arm.
You were the prey.
As my talons began to sink
into your mousey flesh,
The Dreamer woke
and I was in that room
clutching a pillow,
afraid it would get away.

I search for you each day
when The Dreamer wakes.
Each night I swim with you
in an ocean lit by a spaghetti moon
and lie with you on sands
warmed by gumdrop suns.

One day I will find you
and hold you in dreams of my own.
Until then,
I pray The Dreamer never wakes.

Photo Album

Photo Album

I pulled out the old photo albums
but was afraid to open them.
It would be like
tearing the bandage off a fresh wound
and sticking your finger inside.
There would be warmth,
but the pain would be unbearable.
So I leave the bandage
over the wound that should have healed
years ago,
and stare at it from across the room.

It’s been three years,
and still I cannot speak your name.
I give nicknames to those who share it.
They think it is because I hate you.
It is because I still love you.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you,
some days, I think of nothing else.
I have tried to move on,
but there is nowhere for me to go.
The hill where I used to sit,
waiting for your visits,
is gone now.
The cave I called home
is sealed.
I wander the wilderness,
lost and afraid.
Even if you wanted to come home,
you could not find me.

John Mayer sings in the background.
He too, is “Dreaming With a Broken Heart”.
I should turn it off,
but the tears make me feel close to you.
It may seem as though you ruined me.

Not so.

Before You,
I didn’t exist.
With You,
for a moment in time,
I was loved.

I Just Want to go Home,

I Just Want to go Home,

but I don’t know where it is.

Is it under the blue tropical skies of Panama,
where I played as a child?

Is it in mid Michigan, surrounded by farmland,
where I fell in love each new semester?

Is it in warm and sunny San Diego,
where I lived aboard ship and traveled the world?

Is it back again to Michigan
where all my family live, and some have died?

They say home is where the heart is.
I gave her mine so many years ago.

I just want to go home,
but I don’t know where she is.

The Lonely God

The Lonely God

At the top of the world
The Wind howls in protest
to the lonely god.
“End their pain” she screams.

But the lonely god doesn’t listen.
He sits on his throne
and stares down at his creation
with apathy.

The Moon glares at the lonely god
but says nothing,
he knows the lonely god will not hear.

The lonely god ignores the Moon,
and rests his feet on Creation
like a footstool.

The Sun chides the lonely god,
“It’s been long enough”
he mourns.

But the lonely god turns his back
on the Sun,
“Does the artist owe the painting?”
he muses.

The Earth begs the lonely god
for release.
Her bowls churn in torment.

But the lonely god only looks at her
with contempt.
“I created you in my image,
so too shall you suffer”.

The Day Before Tomorrow

The Day Before Tomorrow

It’s the day before tomorrow,
some call it today.

I feel shame giving name
to such a waste of time.

I sat by the phone all day,
wondering why it never rings.
The mailbox was empty,
except for coupons
for things I will never use.
Television played nothing
but repeats.

I promise myself that tomorrow…
tomorrow I will let go.

But on this day,
the day before tomorrow,
I sit and strum an old guitar,
wondering what has become of you.

My cat nudges my leg,
“Time for bed”,
he gently purrs.
The clock has long ticked past midnight
as I drift to sleep.

When I wake,
tomorrow has eluded me again,
so I begin another
day before tomorrow.

Ghost

Ghost

I saw a ghost today,
she looked like you,
same clothes,
same hair,
same bulgy nose.

My eyes knew it wasn’t you,
but my heart was too shocked
to care.

I ran into her three times
in the aisles as I hunted for a meal.
My eyes told me the truth
but my heart begged me to believe.

The salad for one was bitter,
not like the Coneys
we used to get from Walt’s.

If I could tell you what was new,
I would tell you I quit drinking,
it never eased the pain anyway,
and I hope you would be proud.

It has been nearly four years now,
and the grief has never left,
never eased.

I force myself to live,
but there is no passion to it,
no drive,
no point.

…still, tomorrow I hope.