Farewell

This is the heartrending conclusion, the one nobody saw coming.

This is a sentence spoken in your calm tone, heavy as a wrecking ball,
crashing into the love we built from the ground up many years ago.

This is my realization the best has already passed on.

This is the final grain of sand touching the bottom of the hourglass.

This is you abandoning what you promised to cherish.

This is me being strong just long enough to say goodbye.

This is the shattered remains of our vow swept under the rug.

This is me waving in your general direction as you soar off toward
the opposite side of the planet faster than I can gather my thoughts.

This is the excruciating and tearful drive back into town.

This is me growing old in an empty house that’s no longer a home.

This is every lyric and melody of every song I once knew like the back of my hand
pouring out of my memory and staining the wood floor beneath my wrinkled feet.

This is the pen running out of ink.

This is me at a loss for words.

This is the bittersweet closing of the notebook.

This is you and I both sighing in relief.

This is all of us leaving the world.

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Science Is a Dirty Word

I’ve been living under the same roof
since the moment of my birth.
Here I’m comfortable and safe.
This is my concept of earth.

I’m just a blind follower
of whatever happens to be in front of me.
The more my mind is pushed,
the stronger my effort is to deny what I see.

Tradition is held tight while sense is ignored.
I cover my ears to the things that should be learned.
Progress is a reason for taking offense.
Around these parts science is a dirty word.

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Cult (Poem to My Treasured Followers on WordPress)

I’m not sure if the term “follower” is the best way
to describe what your relationship is to me.
“Reader” would suit my literary palate much better.

There’s something about the word “follower”
that carries a handful of negative connotations,
as if I’m the bright-eyed leader of some newly founded cult,
small (just over a hundred disciples last time I checked),
but steadily growing into a popular movement,

calling every weary soul to jump onto my train of thought
and ride until the rusty tracks disappear along with
the billowing puffs of cigarette smoke suspended above
that simultaneously serve as a form of structure and mystery.

Though the idea now has me stuck in contemplation
about what a religion of my own design would see
if it happened to step into the path of an oncoming mirror
before the provided reflection shattered into oblivion.

I suppose, and perhaps this sounds very cliché,
a key focus would settle comfortably upon loving one another.
But before you criticize and accuse me of ripping off
so many religions of the past, and even worse, the present,

let me inform you that God has been telling me in a recurring dream
that salvation comes not through the blood of Jesus Christ,
as millions have been tricked by the devil into believing,
but through a daily consumption of my most holy poetry.

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Lonely Piano

Lonely piano
in corner collecting dust
as specters glide by,
sending chills through virgin keys
crying silent, tender notes.

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Charming

I was going to write a poem,
but I ended up falling asleep on my floor instead.
Lately it’s been difficult to stay awake during the day
because at night too many thoughts fill my head.

I wish I could turn my brain off
when I’m lying there in the dark.
The only thing I can do is think about you,
and how you’re beautiful, kind, and smart.

I know it’s strange,
but I often pretend you’re right there with me,
and I can’t help speaking out loud
all the feelings that have strongly hit me.

Several times I’ve become so immersed in our conversation
that I’ve hallucinated your lovely figure,
but then I remind myself it’s just an image
that my mind created from a dusty picture.

Thoughts of you, it’s always thoughts of you
and never any sleep.
Every night is the same.
I hear your whisper, and it sounds so sweet.

I’ll wait until we meet again.
I’ll say the things I never said.
I’ll tell you how much I’ve missed your face,
and then I’ll bow before your charming grace.

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Honest Beauty

A photo captured
without a pause for touch-ups
or fake perfection.

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Risk

Changes are coming fast.
I admit I’m a little scared.
With so much to take in,
I’m vulnerable and bare.

My mind is sleep-deprived.
Thoughts are aimlessly wandering.
I can’t catch up to them now
with my nervous system sauntering.

These open doors may be fashioned of gold,
but at the moment my stomach is turning.
I can’t shrug off the anxiety recently born,
and can only compare it to internal burning.

I’m heading down a hallway
full of cold, unfamiliar faces,
and I pray for God’s guidance
as my life enters new phases.

I’ll make mistakes and might even fail miserably,
but I realize risk is better than being forever bored.
I need to seek out His plan instead of being afraid,
so in everything I do I’ll place my trust in the Lord.

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