Without respect to will
the heart still beats and chest breaths life.
Not true when with pain
I choose
to listen or not, to care too much-
hold so tight the hurt
the inner lines are lost
and I am not me but you.
Edge
The beauty of a sunset along the Appalachian gaps
reminds me that I wish no one ill
Yet then its shining point annoys
I squint
and the glare strains my soul
I shout
“go hide in the valley and die out”
no patience
no presence
and in that breath
I have struck an edge
from life to death
Commute
Bags in hand
carried out
up front with doors shut
seated for the daily performance
Invariable anxiety
among the hosted caravan
some more polite than others.
Mirrors shoulder high
from the corners reflecting
the auburn and pink rising
behind and brightly announcing
the commuting of the day.
Photo courtesy of Somber by Sunrise
This place
Hearing something ahead
songs of those with voices only
nothing to touch though reaching deep
Fearing the fall
knowing nothing but the view
of love from inside out
in this place.
Mourning rounds
From the opposite side, I watched the murder
some might say suicide.
It seemed though to be racing and there was never an attempt to waver.
Indecisive the victim scrambled left -right
then frozen in fear –crushed by the weight
a heart stopped.
A morning death always makes me cry.
Photo courtesy of Sue (Mac’s Girl)
Sunday
Gasp
the wounding is the same
self inflicted in moments perceived through lenses lost in time
birthing shame
eternal scenes rehearsed to protect a shattered soul from love scorned
beholding fear
so taught by mothers and mother’s mothers until each is carried
beyond this
gasping
