Monday, December 28, 2009

I have written a picture of me
In ballpoint black and blue
I have typed it in Calibri
And shown the world and you
These are things I will not say
Things I know are true
That I will deny every day

Thou shall not lie, I think
But I am not strong enough to do
I will make confessions in ink
On pages white and new
Reflections clearer than glass
Forgiveness, God, I ask of you
Please hear my silent mass

The shame isn’t mine alone
Or the nakedness I might bare
A better, could silence hone
My weakness makes me share
Though strength lets me hide
I beg, appease the guilt I fear
In no one else can I confide

Excuses are not cared for
But I’m broken as you know
Healed by your blood and more
Not whole, I still must grow
I’m a ways from perfect ten
A writer, waiting for the Word to show
In Jesus’ name, Amen

Role Reversal

I don’t want to hear your secret thoughts,
And I do.

Every piece of you,
Will cost a piece of me.

I have enough to spare,
But then no more.

Just seeing you,
Is taking more than that.

You must understand,
We never can go back.

It should be my decision,
I have more to lose.

You can’t see it,
But I’ve given you the choice.

You don’t know it,
Or you never would have asked.

It’s better,
If I know you didn’t know.

I can still love you,
If I can feel it this way.

Silly, I will always love you,
Even if you knew.

You have always loved me,
When I was you.


the top keeps its rotation
not of its own volition
poor top,
somebody set it in motion
and has yet to say stop
gravity will intervene
the top will careen
up or down
into the nearest object
scraping it brightly painted sides.
that somebody,
who began its circulation,
will put it away,
a chipped and damaged toy
better left on the shelf--
than on the ground rejected

The Conclusion

They were talking, not understanding

Going through motions long rehearsed

The words had lost their meaning

But not their function

Love is a thousand actions

But a thousand actions are not love

She said she was just tired

And he said they had seen better days

But all the days led to this one

And this one came a hundred times


The last three decades had been slow

Slow enough for her to see

Slow enough for him to know

He was not the man she chose

And she was not the woman—

Who chose him

Details, easy to ignore

Between driving children to school

And picking them up after sports

Gone now and only the sound,

The necessity of conversation left

Her kisses cold with irrelevance

His-- hot with remembrance

Together lukewarm--

From bliss born of ignorance