Midnight Promise

 Downtrodden.

Driving down the road,

nightlight/street light.

Pull over for Midnight Promise,

to sleep a wink

and dream.

Meanwhile, your life depends

on no dead ends.

No stops,

life flops

every now and then.

The Butcher

 The blue light of old fluorescence

spills onto the speckled, sawdust

plastic coated countertop.

Upon it lies the silver edge hanging

onto the chopping block for dear life.

Behind the broken counter,

you see The Butcher

-towering above-

no longer cowering meat. . .

The thumb of his beloved daughter

went missing in the abyss of

“What the hell happened?”

Found the thumb lying in the sink,

the pink

bloody flesh was floating

in this morning’s cereal.

One rainbow Lucky Charm in a bowl

quarter full of sour milk.

Well, I’ll never look at breakfast

the same way again.

The kitchen’s pink walls,

so similar to the color

of her disembodied thumb on ice-

Made her think twice

about her favorite color

and her bloody red floral curtains

on the windows.

The sink,

its fluorescent light above

saved her from having nothing

but a bloody nub.

Chemical Enlightenment

 Found my name on the page of an open book.

My author speaks to ink

the atmosphere of “how could you?”

I wish I could break through.

So dreadful dead indulgence said

I’ll kill you in the end.

Dreadful dead indulgence sells

your name for dividend.

Chemical Enlightenment, history

can’t you see sinking self esteem descend

into the waves of my demise?

Where weaknesses face a floating ego,

where nobody seems to see-

where nobody seems to see me sinking

in a sea of my convictions.

In desperate need of guidance

greater than my vision,

greater than my mission.

I am trapped on the page of an open book.

I wish I could break through.

My burdens become bigger than the world

which values my point of view.

Unsolicited Advice

 Unsolicited Advice. . .

Man, ain’t it nice? (NO!)

What makes you the authority

of spoken word decree?

Oh, I see. . .

It’s your age,

which made

your spontaneous suggestion

all the rage.

Well, may I suggest

to the ancient sage himself;

You’ll find yourself

in a world of wealth,

if you can overcome

the commentary you create

within the walls of your witless head.

My friend,

the world doesn’t need

more disgruntled dread.

Undesired Direction

 Found myself blind,

giving into the unkind.

Blank canvas once again,

and there I stand-

severed esteem in hand.

Absorbing nothing of value

from the likes of you.

I wish this could’ve been a gift,

a moment,

a chance,

to take flight,

to delight

in the freedom of my speech.

Instead,

I give into the dread

of Undesired Direction.

I Don’t Fall

 The lyric you left me

is the indifferent expression

of authoritarian imposed silence.

Express yourself;

YOUR VOICE IS NOT FORBIDDEN!

DON’T YOU DARE ACCEPT ADVICE FROM

UNENLIGHTENED LOONS!

You see, my eyes are open wide-

I am aware I’m imperfect.

I Don’t Fall sweetly in tune.

My ears understand, but didn’t ask 

how I could put on a better mask.

To pretend I am in someone else’s shoes-

the twisted truth of attitudes aloof.

And Deceit, he knows no boundaries,

he’s standing on the edge,

tempting you to lose.

The Emotional Tilt

 The gut wrenching hope

of moving on.

Saying so long,

finding peace

among chaos.

The Emotional Tilt

toward acceptance

gives grief

the opportunity

to be set free.

We Are Two

 The cairns of stacked conditions

can take the weather of storms, lightning,

 wind and rainy waters.

It’s humanity that fumbles in without

a care and dares

to topple its own creation.

But we, We Are Two,

the wee and the few

who edify what we embody

with the willingness

to wreck anything in our way.

Add one to the stack,

I’m behind you, I’ve got your back

as I hand you another

piece of stony enlightenment.

The earth gave us all we needed

to tower up and be receded.

The Chameleon Cue

 I want to be amazed.

I want my thoughts provoked.

To relate

to state the truth of matters.

Whether brutally honest

or boldly kind. . .

I want to stand out again,

I want to change.

The Chameleon Cue

of kaleidoscope consideration,

but my soul, it has no self-control.

Oh ye of little faith;

you know I can calm the sea,

clear your lungs from drowning waters,

and make a bit of bread feed the multitudes.

But God they said to me,

my faith, it wasn’t free.

I’m asking you, what’s the cost?

Because there’s nothing I have lost.

What is it but a bit of jealousy?

The envious green hue

of the sick, sad and blue?

And I could say I loved

you any way, any day.

Wouldn’t change you,

wouldn’t save you.

Just hoping for your happiness,

peace, tranquility, stability.

Did you hear me?

I said I wouldn’t change you!

But me,

that’s a different story.

I’m Simply Too Old

 Oh how I wish I could be

somebody else,

in someone else’s shoes.

With a better voice,
a better view. . .

More compassion,

wish I’d been through

what you’d been through.

Oh how I wish I could see

all the things you’d seen.

Wish I could relate, but I’ve been told

I’m Simply Too Old

to understand the sad demand

to be understood.

Oh the irony,

my whole life

has been the strife

of a disabled housewife.

Are you sure I’m the one

who doesn’t understand?

Honestly, it’s tough to tell.

But I can feel our disconnect

in the loudest silence I’ve ever heard.

It’s interesting how the years

show age discrimination.

One day they say you’re too young,

the next you’re too old.

It’s so funny how I’ve never told myself

“I can’t”

in the face of complication.