Garden of Hope

He had life
his body couldn't support.
He had heart
the heavens had to break.

It took me seven years
to see through the tears,
enough to pick up this pen,
thinking if I did
I'd be signing his notice of eviction.

He chose a wall
to knock upon
knowing who sat across
thinking I was the best carrier
for this dire message
but it fell on the way
I wasn't strong enough to carry
or fight this angel on earth,
after all,
he was here as a courtesy
since birth.

Pounds to his chest
rhythmically corresponded
to the desperate sirens
I remembered knowing
I would never forget the
flashing lights.
They say now he is gone
from the world we know,
pounds to his chest,
but he is all I know.

We used to play on the grass
and now we are separated by it.
We were caught by an unfair surprise
as I wait for his quiet reprise.

It's time for living
and loving memory.
For not losing
but taking what he left.
I see now why I need art,
hand to chest,
we have the same heart.
Maybe mine will be the next to break,
maybe then I will finally wake.

A Known Enemy

Pick a necessary poison
to match how you feel.
Knock em back
and knock em dead,
resisting to deal.

This dedication
to self medication
is the last thing
left to hold.

Clean the mirror,
finally see clearer.
Plunge into the so unknown
to find your second face.

The sun rises with dependability;
a sudden reason.
The only fear I have left
is that I will forget to live
in this waiting room,
sealing my fate
in a private tomb.

That someday
pretending to fill the good guy
would flood into
my whole life becoming a lie.

Until I shed these
counterfeit clothes
to eventually expose,
I wait in a patient prison.

The moon replaces,
fear is pulled away;
a sudden treason.
I'm only high on the highways,
and only interesting on the interstate.
Not happy motionless,
so I make cars stand still,
closing in on the kill.

Living fast
when dying is irrelevant.
Ignore such great heights
you're only proved wrong on the fall.

It's true its a prison
because I keep falling from the gate,
dividing the fine line
between love and hate.

Until my number
calls out,
and I can finally be made whole,
I stay partitioned
until it takes its toll.