I observed you in the corner of my eye
thinking my attention had slipped you by.
You writing those thank you letters
so conceited, so renowned
to answered prayers profound.
Reminding you in simple sounds.
That all your efforts will turn to dust.
That you never had anyone’s trust.
That you are unequivocally a creature of disgust.
Tears in the night
Fight or flight
Hold her close
Hold her tight
Soon a new day
Soon a new sight
Before Success comes to stay
His three brothers clear the way.
Failure arrives first, claiming he only needs the smallest bed,
But will take two and then three instead.
Confusion arrives next with too much luggage for his claim of an overnight stay.
Excuse after excuse he generates, staying for days and days.
Disappointment arrives last with nothing to his name.
Seeing everything you have he will complain and complain.
They will bicker and argue with no delay,
Destroying your house and disrupting your ways.
But in the end they, as much as you, will grow tired
Claiming each other has an unbearable situation made.
They will leave not with a thank you said.
A broken home is their parting gift instead.
But it is a gift, their visit as much as their departure.
In home repairs you will be employed
Even the areas you would normally avoid.
So when Success finally does visits, he enters with words so kind
Thanking you for making your home such a comfortable find.
He continues saying If I may
Could I stay a few extra days?
What role do I play in your life,
Husband or wife?
Am I determined by sex,
Or my effect?
Though I should not care,
I wonder if you would dare
to tell me
to reassure me
Why you love me.
Don’t answer too quick.
Please take your time to think.
In the meantime, I will continue my confusing ways
Awaiting what you will say.
Fearful of no voice, I shout.
Transgression is the obsession,
bringing the words into play.
I should focus on the positive,
ignoring those things born from doubt.
But then what would I say?
My depths are unknown to me.
Without all of those causatives,
I am quiet. I am without.
A coward.
Tick, Tick, Tock
Tick, Tick, Tock
Gazing out many faces of the Clock
Tick, Tock, Tick
Tock, Tock, Tick
Pendulums swing to memory’s flick.
Tick, Tock, Wristwatch
Tick, Tock, Pocket Watch
No more tomorrows
No more today’s
The world has tilted to yesterday.
On the day I died,
I saw Death going the other way.
Are you not supposed to be my guide, I cried.
“Not my problem,” he said. “Not today.”
“I’ve been let go. I’ve been told to go away.”
“So to you I say good luck.”
“You’ve had a life. Days good and bad.”
“Chances you seized, others you let slip away.”
“Before we part let me, as one final gift, say”
“There are no more guides out there, in that death has become like life in so many ways.”
“Do your best and then do it again, soon you will find your stride.”
Shout louder, I can’t hear you.
Shout louder, I don’t understand you.
Though I never will,
continue ever more still.
Shout louder, I can’t hear you.
Shout louder, I don’t understand you.
Conversations with no sound.
Little more than tears newly found.
May I know the beats of your heart?
Those that you have loved and those that loved you back.
The moments that excited you and those that made you hesitate.
May I live a lifetime between your breaths?
A beginning, a middle, and an end.
To only start it all over again
May I?
Which words are falsely dressed as fear?
Covered in coats spun from pain, misunderstanding, and rejection
freely provided by my own interior designs.
Labyrinths and fun house mirror started by another but self-finished.
My awareness has a dress code it turns out.
The words dislike these new wardrobes.
They struggle against the ill-fitting fabrics.
Most will tire and comply, behaving in new ways.
But a few, a gift-to-all few, will pop the buttons and rip the seams.
Casting off their coats, their nakedness startles me.
Reminds me.
The world is beautiful and I sometimes forget.
Thomas Typewriter 
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