Taken Under The Wing

When I thought I reached my last hello.
There were a few who refused to say goodbye.
They took me under the wings of love.
And they offered us to the sky.

We soared together into the great beyond.
I never knew I could go so high.
Without trepidation or fear of a fall.
I sank into the clouds.

And thought about "forgiven" and "unforgotten."
Nor risked or struck, bylines forced to die.
Where went the golden chalice.
I shored beside the way.

Is it you who opened the gate to me?
Or have I always rested inside?
Never final and never gone.
You redeemed me even when I thought redemption was beyond my grasp.

It's the mask that I wear.
Whenever we meet.
But my face looks just the same.
Always with you in a land that time forgot.

Despite the wracking pain.
I wander with you.
Our hands are clasped.
In a lover's softened mane.

Lover with the Green Eyes

Oh, hello lover with eyes so green.
You caught me every time I fell.
No one understands us.
That's the way it is, you know.

I lost myself and you were there to help find me.
We kiss and fall into the thrall of endorphins.
Lost in your grace, your complexities.
You drive me forward leading me along the way.

Anyway you still let me stay.
And we're lost in each other.
Entangled like no one else.
And perhaps it's unconditional.

Although, my mark is about to be made.
For did you know I have treasures I haven't shared with you yet?
There's more here than you may know, even now when you've explored me for so long.
Never forget the love that we've made.

Kindness

Kindness to myself is the hardest thing I can imagine doing on a regular basis.
I find myself creating conflicts.
Then it's hard to be kind to myself.
Conflicts come in all forms.

I am doing my best with what I was given.
And I am still here.
I want to relent and lay down.
But when I stand up I find the strength to go on.

I am heartbroken with myself.
I am disappointed.
But I will turn it into art.
And I'll find a new guise.

This won't be a long poem.
Just an admission that I am struggling too.
I don't know anyone who isn't, especially when they should be.
This is an admission of success to the words we found called: unconditional love.

Count On It

Hard to see when you believe in a ghost.
An invisible man who's afraid of getting hit by traffic.
He's never far, so try not to bump into him.
I've collided with air too many times.

Material objects fly through the air without provocation.
If you get in deep enough to know.
He's the man in the dandy hat.
Grows closer to you when you're alone.

It's only then he can see who you are with yourself.
Alone, no one to front for.
No one to impress with all your tricks.
And indecipherable bliss.

And once you've grown cold and silent.
He'll know you're close to the edge.
He'll come to claim you if he can.
His name is nothing and he's not even related to the man we call "death".

If death follows you around take it as a compliment.
He's only ensuring your passage through life.
Every death threat and every bomb dismantled creates a cloak.
It's only when they miss the mark and you're blown away that you can't stay for another day.

Say I had a gift called foresight and I used it every chance I got.
And pretend I could forecast someone else's fate.
Wouldn't that be a valuable commodity.
Useless when choosing a set of lottery numbers, cause that's not how it works.

In emergencies people have been known to exert superhuman strength.
I've heard the story of someone lifting a car, saving a person trapped.
The price we pay for saving someone's life isn't always stiff.
It's only high if we misjudge, never sacrifice yourself unless it's a final choice.

Put yourself in front of the bullet and you'll pay a price.
Especially if it was intended for family or friend.
I can defend myself better in a mental game of war.
If I see you coming in my mind's eye I might devise a plan.

This isn't a warning or an attempt to out myself.
It's just a dialogue about how we might work from time to time.
Send in an assassin and you've definitely crossed a line.
My grandfather John Donovan taught me nothing, I never met him, but I heard the stories.

He was OSS, his cover journalism.
My grandmother and my mother suffered some of the consequences.
Our men who work in intelligence always bring secrets that can't be explained or repeated, families broken and torn.
Black suits, black cars come to question the women and children and it's not against the law.

I Stopped By

I stopped by just to say hello.
You were gone.
So, I hung around your window.
Your sister said you'd be back around 12.

I went to the park and sat on a swing.
My ponytail brushed back in the wind.
I talked to the neighbor, tried to waste time.
Hungry for your face, hungry for your eyes.

You're always asleep.
And I'm always tied up.
By conspiracies and undiscovered mysteries.
Grow up please.

They tell me I'm the girl who's forever young.
And you're the man who's never done.
Find me if you dare.
I'm closer to here than there.

Wonder Over What's Gone.

After it has left you you're wondering what happened.
You tried to make sense of it all.
You wrote down some thoughts.
And you brought out the big guns.

Mindfucking is essential at any given time.
Pardon my french.
The poetry of a modern day Cinderella.
From the ashes to what?

There are no red carpets for me.
I'm a writer finding the time.
I might not mind.
You know I never mind.

Keep the sequences in order.
And perhaps you'll be of the same mind.
Or pare down the innocuous parts.
Stay the same and tame the art.

Hideaway

Silent in his dark room full of promises.
He waits, drinking interminably, thinking alone.
Growing colder inside, the passion fades like stars aging in the limelight.
Sitting and growing older, more set in his ways.

It's night after night of constant plays.
Running through corridors, striking fast, making tracks.
Sinister waterfront warehouses hiding secrets of past, present, and future.
Absolute bliss in the knowledge it's done.

What he came for has happened.
Where he's going is glum.
Depression sets in over love lost and gone.
The light that he was drawn to is hidden away.

A place he can't reach, by his doing and device.
The mechanism inside goes tick tock.
Extraneous noise vibrates in the most unpleasant way.
A baby's cry sounds like the devil at work.

And he's afraid on the bus of what he wants to do to the slut in the skin tight yellow dress.
He wants to cut her down, like an awkward antelope separated from the herd.
And do what he wants with nothing held back.
There in the courtyard, the yard filled with debris.

It's not him I see when I open my eyes.
But he's watching from a distance.
Finalizing his plans.
And the mayor is running, his face is deadpan.

The CIA thought they could swing it today.
But instead they found that there was no play.
In consequence we brought all the ammo we could.
And in the end, the ammo was wood.