Conquering Hate

People write complicated poems;
they write things you need the dictionary to understand.
I don't get them nor do I make them,
so I'll keep this plain and simple:
I hate you.

Are you surprised I said it like that?
Other people would've written, "Amidst the
eery shadows of a forlorn beat delved
cosine to murky abysses, a tempest evolves towards thee."

Who knows if that even makes sense?
They might as well have written in German
to a pure bred American who's blind
and to those who volunteer to read it to him-sorry, he's deaf.

If you're confused and don't know why I said it
then you must be the wrong person,
because these three words would be recognized
and so would the reason easily by the accused.

It's your fault for my misfortune, you know,
for making me wish I could kill you,
but I am no assassin as much as I'd like to be;
I've seen too much blood already.

Perhaps you're still in shock because you
thought you could get away with it unnoticed.
Well if the language isn't clear, then I hope you
understand French: Je te deteste.

Need it in Swiss or Creole or Spanish?
Too bad, I don't know any of those.
What would be the point anyway since you're nothing
but a dumb bastard-excuse the language.

How I'd love to burn down your house while
you're in it, of course, and hopefully fast asleep
to the time when the flame bursts at its peak
and you are left to see your life passing painfully slow.

Call me cruel, but that makes you the bloody devil
for all you've done to me, to my life.
Everything was fine, everything could've been called perfect,
but you had to come and set Hell loose, didn't you?

My heart is in shreds, my bed might as well be the floor,
my tears are the same fluid that pumps through my veins;
aren't they supposed to be salty and innocent?
I'm a storm ready to pour its wrath upon you only.

All of this has happened, everything has changed
but I'm still suffering too deep, so let me end this now.
I won't let you win, it's my turn to conquer from this loss,
so hear me and live on in guilt for eternity:
I forgive you.

Just Soft Whispers in the Wind

Soft whispers in the wind--

if only he could hear my voice

calling gently, reaching out with

calloused fingertips to lightly

embrace his ever-sleeping form.

But like the wandering current,

my cry is as common as the rest,

like a single drop amongst the rain

and one flake of ash buried with others.

He questions the sun and the starry night,

his mind as confused as his heart,

losing himself in his own reality

where I fall behind and cannot follow.

His name is the prayer on my lips,

but the paradise above answers not,

knowing how foolish I am to think

he can complete what should be whole.

Could it be my own blindness

that allows me to call him my own

on a path I cannot see but follow loyally

to a beyond where merriment resides?

The moon watches the world slumber,

but I wonder, can one eye catch his tear

rolling numbly down those stained cheeks

while he continues to wonder on away?

I clasp my breath as the trees sigh,

their leaves rustling from foreign winds.

My eyes closed as I hum a quiet song,

a lullaby to put his troubles at rest,

just soft whispers in the wind.

If only he could hear my voice.

Colorless Minds

How colorless the world seems

When gloom bathes the rail of early morn

First gray then faded, a relentless task

Natural with the utterance of nature's twist

Blame to be on the human's mind

Bloodless battles, all undefined

How colorless, so colorless!

Until we use our hearts as our eyes

Neighborhood Solitude

Solitude:

A man on his front porch staring at me,

and I’m staring at him, but he doesn’t know,

so he’s alone under that tarnished rooftop

hiding in his cheap, old blue sweater, the threads

as loose as the brown, dry spaghetti wriggling on my fork.

Yes, I’m shaking.

I’m shaking because I’ve seen that depressed frown before,

I’ve seen his chipped, blood-dried nails digging into the wood he holds on to

when he remembers there’s no one there to bid him good morning,

that no one cares how he’s feeling or asks what he dreamt about the night

before.

He’s 26.

Yes, he’s 26 and bearing the years of being mature and single;

no fiancé to help with dinner, so he’s baking , and you’d think that’s

a good quality in a man, but from what I can smell it’s suicide.

Never leave a man alone with the stove.

Oh, pity-

pity I feel, overwhelmed for him, a neighbor living amongst empty

houses; large, sturdy boulders protruding wildly but silently blindfolding

his view of the city, so colorful, pretty and playful, what he wants to be,

what he won’t have, what he moved into…literally.

“Hello neighbors,” I can hear him shout in a growing mental frenzy,

the movement of his lips unnoticeable to me. “Come over for tea at

6!” he shouts, growling instantly at the echo of his throat kissing

off the grass and lapsing in the summer breeze.

Poor man-

poor man indeed! He doesn’t move, but what does he expect?

No one will come to discuss the news and chug that foul beer over sports,

no one will listen to him talk about his hopes and worries, no one

will call to say they miss him.

He’s so alone, so frightfully alone.

What he doesn’t know-

oh, but he should- that grandfather clocking ticking away in his living room,

that time does pass, pains and patience are rewarded, and prayer

means Someone has heard, Someone will send, Someone watching through

my eyes, and all of a sudden I’m stone-parched and thirsty.

No more coffee in the cupboards and the clock strikes 6. I’m

heading to your patchy, green door, wearing though new, and you

open it slowly, unsure of what you see, me in my checkered coat,

fancy jeans, a smile on my face, your nose twitching in question.

“Hello, Nick. You invited me for tea,” I say kindly, watching your pupils

dilate as massive as your ears, and I laugh to bring the summer light

to your melancholy aura, thinking happily I’d broken your lonesome

silence and set you free, but you clench your teeth and say, “Wrong house,”

and slam the door in my face.

I realize then he’d forgotten his name, and

I’d forgotten to finish my spaghetti.

My Amazing Teddy Bear

Hug me close to your heart tonight

under the covers by the candlelight

while the movie plays and we giggle

because I'm hiding while you tickle.

Dim, glowing colors before our eyes,

but we're too busy with our tries

to win such an old game- one, two, three four,

I declare thumb-war!

Hands locked intensely, but it's just an excuse

so I can touch you- let's make a truce,

as long as we never have to let go,

but I'm going to smirk so you don't know.

You let me win like every other time

so you can hear my bragging chime,

and you lean close smiling sweet,

with a reason to hush me as our lips meet.

A soft, light kiss- I don't want to move,

and as the kiss grows deeper I know you approve,

our hearts dancing to a pretty melody

beyond these walls and out to sea.

Crisp sounds around us cannot match the sigh

escaping my chest as I catch your eye

full of love while you silently adore,

and I look down with warm cheeks at the floor.

All you do is chuckle- how unfair!

You didn't give me a chance to prepare,

crawling closer by my side in your cozy sweater,

making me wish you could stay forever.

For a moment I think it's serious when you choke,

but you're messing and cracking that classic joke,

and I'll tell you like before it's not funny

that you could've been hurt, but you laugh crazily.

I try to leave, but you quietly call my name,

and what I was feeling a second ago isn't the same,

as you pull me into your arms in your gentle hold,

promising you'll do whatever you're told.

My cheek against your chest, I grin,

knowing it's a lie, but this time you win,

enjoying the affection of your fingers in my hair,

and your silly whispers of being my teddy bear.

Yes, you are.

Troglodytic Wolf

Lonely wolf howling your sorrowful song
beneath the quiet moon reigning far high,
what in this world could commit such deep wrong
that has weakened your spirit as you cry?
A monstrous beast roaming the black night
as the tales are told, but you fare no harm,
sprawled wearily atop the barren hill sight
while passersby scream judged alarm.
Knives, guns, and traps they bring to sever fear,
though not once have you taken lethal bite,
yet in their eyes ravenous you appear,
and so fatality finds your wounds trite.
Laying beneath a starry sky bleeding,
without the companion you were needing.