setting

Life is full of good-bye's,
each one more potent than the last.
And each compounded to the rest
like new weight on a heavy heart.
Anticipate it, adjust to it if you must.
Brace yourself for the emptiness that weighs.
But don't close too early.
Don't say good-bye before it's time.
Don't lose before it's lost
or surrender what's not yet taken.
For those you lose are also losing you.
They count the seconds left
like sunset seconds of a favored day.
And wish to see the setting till it's done--
the ending brilliance, the parting sun.
It isn't losing when you've won
a past of memories.

Though stars are all that's left of light,
the stars do not appear till night.

Running

I'm following the sun.
If I can run fast enough,
I'll keep it on the horizon.

my shadow spot

I loved you too passionately then.
Now time has calmed the rage
and waves are ripples splashing
gently on my mind.

You were the noon time sun then,
too hot upon my skin.
I sought for shadows,
wanting shade to shield
my sun-burnt heart.

Too many feelings then.
But now the potency is faded
into starlight--
the lingering warmth
of sun's last breath across
the space connecting us.
The dust from stars
is really dust from you
still restless from you leaving.

I feel them draw me
from my shadow spot
to feel them in the open air--
the air you used to breathe--
and give me clearer pictures
of your beauty then.

I could not stare at sunlight then,
but love to gaze at starlight now--
reflections of your splendor.
It is your fading warmth
that captivates me most.
The twilight view more interesting
to painters.

Lead me to fading shores
where dying embers of past suns
remind me of past beauty best.
These are the moments full of rest,
the ones when love is gently pressed
into my heart.
And I concede at last to start
believing love could be an art
of mine,
if not confined
to summertime and heat stroke.

It was the heat that broke
my spirits then,
But twilight now has made me friend
to lovely pasts, and you again.

important

I'm important.
No, you're important.
Everyone is more important
than me.
But I'm important
when I'm better than you.
Homogeneity devalues me
to nothing.

important=valuable
valuable=better than things of little or no value
better=uniquely valuable
uniquely valuable=singularly important

important
special
unique
are wasted in generalities.

All my carnal eyes see is comparison.
The world only makes sense in good vs. bad.
I'll never survive in heaven.
They say everything is good there,
And everyone's important.
I'll be nothing.

If someone is to be blamed for changing
the dynamics of our friendship,
it isn't me.
I'm still single.

Heartbreak (for "Million Dollar Baby")

It was heartbreak that did it.
It was the break that did him through.
A heart was meant for breaking, for breaking . . .
The pain which is seen with tiny eyes inside.
A broken nose doesn't hurt too bad,
But break the heart, the soul,
The unseen backbone to it all,
To existence--
That is what did him through.
Stabbed with an immortal blade,
These wounds will never heal
And he will never come back to us.
We break and break and break
And cry until the tears come and wash us.
The sweetest water that ever washed our garments.
And tears will save us,
But what when the well runs dry
And we are broken again with no water
To heal?
Life holds its appeal
Only to the brokenless.
Because my arms won't move if hers won't.
She without limb; now me without heart
We are the same.
And death follows.
We are built to be broken
And broken to be built again,
But his heart was rent the last time
And he held nothing in his hands.
Life's blood ran out his soul
Like water drains through bullet holes.
The devil took his heart and wept over it in hell.
Misery loves nothing.
It's just misery.
And the devil weeps forever without tears.
His worst burden is the immortal blade
The Lord gave him, and he breaks the hearts
Of man until they can not mend themselves.
The irreversible pain is sent to him forever
And the broken man to God.

It must be so
For there is no answer to the broken hearted down here.

--June 2006

Becky Joe

Can your trouble really outweigh the joy of a back scratch? Who can drown the perfume of a flower or the rain upon your face? Nothing can. Not a heartache or a doubt. Not a C-grade or a D. Not a famine or a drought. Not the man you fear is better, nor the mock you feel for failure. You are the King of every moment and the Queen in every mirror. You were not made for moments, but moments made for you. You are the topic of every line and the subject of every play around you. You do not play supporting cast in your existence. You are the star, so every flower was grown for you. And every snow flake the blessing of your eyes. The world is yours. Not you the world's. Of all things you are most gifted, for you can choose the curve of your mouth and move of your hand. And God risked everything to make it so. The riskiest of His creations, you have all power to choose your smile or frown. God wills your smile, but allows your frown. For your freedom, He risked your heaven or hell. And He wills you to Him with all He has. All God Has. God has it all, but you. Until you choose Him. How it must pain Him to allow you NOT to scratch your back or smell fresh mango or taste big snow flakes or see wax melt, so that you can choose it. Because you hardly ever do. You choose to worry it might all be gone someday. And what if it is? If it's gone then you must be. For alive, you have it still. And dead, you have it still. Get used to the happy flowers here; in heaven, they're everywhere. But if you can't see it here, how will you know it there? You've only learned to spot trouble, so when there is none, you will be confused and empty, with nothing to worry about and no idea what happiness is--no idea what you're experiencing. But what of the bad? Can a man simply live ignorant of trouble and still grow into a man? No. But you no more need to seek out pain to know it is there than a fish needs to seek out air. Trouble waits past every stroke. And trouble may kill you, but don't beach yourself before you're beached. Don't miss the rainbow scales upon your skin. Take all the pain and breaks and loss and blow them through your arm hair. Billions of sensors on your skin wait to make you feel them. Don't wait for trouble to pass first. Make trouble wait for you. Your feelings are otherwise engaged. You are feeling the hair move on your arm.

then

don't look at a picture
at a book
at a word
at a mark on a page
and see anything
really anything

don't hear a song
hear a note
hear a sound
hear a noise from inside
and listen
really listen

don't ask me for the words
for the notes
for the anythings of somethings real
how could it exist for you
if it doesn't

I can't give you that

is not

Why talk.
Why speak your mind
When not
Inside of one.

Why voice the thing that isn't
loud enough to know.
You can't forgo
the speaking of what's not.

It isn't not.
The same unspoken thing,
the not alive and not existing,
erupts the inner walls resisting.

But talk to let it out?
Expose the thing unliving?
Reveal the unrelenting
pounding of still air?
It isn't fair.
To feel so much of nothing.

Forgiving

Give me an unloved heart.
An unheld hand,
A friendless part
in life's great play.

Send me forgotten books.
Works out of print
That no one looks
at anymore.

Make me the starving child.
Neglected soul
left to the wild
earth writhing.

But let me love. Don't take
from me my needing
wanting, pining
heart--
the pilot flame
that lets me start
my life again.
If I can feel
my fire of living;
If my heart loves,
I am forgiving.