I’m sorry
I've always loved the little things,
The cricket's chirp, how the bird sings,
I was confused how you didn't love them too,
Now I all know all you knew,
And I'm confused how you do all you do,
And I'd be far from where you are today,
and I've cried myself to sleep for the past 28 days,
Cried about the truth I know at last,
But mostly all I've said in the past,
I'm sorry about everything that came out of my mouth,
When everything started going south,
I don't see how you kept on moving,
When nothing in the world was soothing,
Thank you for everything you've done,
For being my light when there was no sun.
Austin Qc, CA
Purple fields of thyme in the backyard,
An old Abbey on a thank you card,
A strong maple tree,
Freedom as far as the eye can see,
An old house up on a cliff,
As perfect as childhood myths,
Millions of stars up in the sky,
Flowers decorated with a butterfly,
A white banister rails,
Floors of grey-blue shale,
The place as perfect as summer dreams,
Where everything is just as it seems
Almost Out
The scars on our hearts,define who we are,
You're endless slashes, drunken lashes,
But still I'd thought we'd come so far,
That we'd only been burnt by the fire's ashes,
Not the flames that burn like old stars,
But I guess I was wrong,
We are still in the middle of this hell,
But we've survived this long,
And sadly we know it very well
Morning
The old coffee pot's comforting sound,
Cuts through the early dawn fog that surrounds my brain.
Wrapped up in an old fuzzy blanket, waiting for the snow to fall,
Watching the sun rise through the storm, praying that this moment would last forever.
Soon I hear footsteps on the stairs, and someone splashes coffee in a mug.
The spell of snow and sun not yet broken, not until I feel warm arms around me.
Older than my thread-bare blanket, more comforting than the steel coffee pot,
Warmer than the winter sun, but not as magical as winter morning.
Nights
Nights,
Burnt out, like the old candles in the dining room,
A slight golden glow, lingering smell,
Warm and comforting, yet distant; gone,
Nights,
Tears dance in my eyes, run down my face,
My mind pulling both directions,
Nights,
Slowly slip to your eyes,
Slowly die, bring you with me,
Numb, immune to the constant pain,
Or
Nights,
When I sleep, save my worrying for waking hours,
When I have no place to run,
Just suffocate, no choice left,
Numb, overruled by constant pain,
Nights,
The moon outside my window,
Like everyone a dark side hidden,
A lonely, broken string to hold,
Nights,
Of prayers and hellish screams,
Broken paths and broken dream,
Nights,
Of not knowing how to act,
Nights.
Night Mare
I searched high and low,
Looking for what I thought was missing,
Knights in shining armor, perfect endings,
Daydreams of kings and queens overran what I had,
A dark horse, a night mare,
The one that carried me through the illusion of perfection,
The illusion of daydreams, Straight into the beauty of truth,
The beauty of nightmares, my night mare
Constant
With time all answers come,
Like the constant sight of the sun,
I'll always wear my faith on a chain,
Just as the moon continues to wane,
I watch the trees let go,
Just like you, the only constants I know,
I can count them on a single hand,
I fear that this is all I'll ever understand,
That the moon takes over for the sun,
You always have a need to run,
With winter leaves will fall,
And I'll be here like an old stone wall.
Home is Where the Heart Is
I've never needed directions,
instead I put my foot on the gas,
Passed faded highway signs,
Drove through three states,
Until concrete turned to dirt,
Other cars to cows in the distance,
I leave my house again and again,
To follow my heart to what I call home.
Old locks on even older doors,
Old house with even older memories.