Me

Lonely

nece

ssary

 

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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 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.

These Walls Can Talk

These Walls Can Talk

The pictures I hang
attempt to silence voices
in these walls.

Images of my new life,
new dreams.
They are new stories
for the walls to tell.

The walls will not
tell them.
Daily they speak their favorites.
Tales of laughter you brought,
songs you sang,
love you gave.

Cold and lonely,
they weep for you nightly.
They love you,
and will not
let you go.

Not for Me

Not for Me

Snow has melted.
Rivers bloated with run-off.
Sun shines brighter.
People smile with the Warmth of Hope.

Not me.

Spring holds no hope
for me,
no reason ahead.
Flower bloom
their fragrance bland in my nostrils.

Summer lies ahead.
Parties planned,
Graduations celebrated.
Cool waters renew Spirit.

Not for me.

Summer heat
a precursor to the Hell that awaits,
pain of burning Sun,
as taste of torture I face.

Still, it is nothing compared
to the pain I know now.
Loneliness since you left.
Pain since you last held me.
Despair I swim in.

No Hell will be worse than this.