The Eclipse

I was called to the graveyard
during the eclipse of the moon.
For I was alone during the darkness of consideration.
Diminished of precious light.
Sometimes the only way to sort out life is to look at the names of the dead.
We talk in the same way.
Hoping that the living love
recognizes
parts of us
are intentionally still with them.

Sky as cloudy as my mind
hung like curtain
red and grayish blue.
Then the moon came out.
Not many had the chance to see it
that night,
but I witnessed this
in a stricken moment
when the veil
was going to show a surprise
since they know
I am always listening.

Surrounded by bodies layered in cold earth and stone I heard a bell.
All of us in the parameter
see if knowing hearts listen.

When "I miss you" is not enough,
and you realize you're not always tough come be with me.
I too
am the mist in the shadows.
A candle without a flame.
I can speak your name a thousand times today and know what it's worth.
Carry me on your left shoulder
as I stare at the ground.
I am not yet in the oak or pine.
All of the flowers,
and sorrow at funerals
only show what's left undone.
If you dig me a hole I'll sit there waiting.
I know why ghosts try to haunt.
There are words yet to say,
and we cannot rest until our mistakes are justified.

The Stale Wine

Stale wine
touching lips he never will again.
Creaks and raindrops.
Air heavy with a noxious smell.
I layered a blanket barely useful and wished there was hope to dream. Frightened and mourning.
Un-rested and malnourished.
I lay alone.
The stale wine that sat on the cluttered dirty counter enticed without any sanity.
I will regret tomorrow,
but I still reach for the glass rinsed;
not washed.
I am already ashamed of myself.
Maybe there's just a little bit of what's keeping me awake left but,
it's just stale wine.
The most sour grapes on the vine.
Blurring a truth that cannot be undone.
Remembering when it was fresh and crisp only trickles in the concern that I was foolish once again.
Like this drink
he barely wanted me to think.
To know.
To stand without leaning on another.
I was strong and independent.
I should have never spent any time with stale wine.
Blame it on desperation to see joy in my misfortunate life.
I only filled the glass wanting to forget how I loved another.
The entire time I spent with stale wine all I did was think of my grail of a drink.
Allowing confusion.
Crying in showers.
Trying to deny who I want the most.
By the time I was done with stale wine I saw the chance of true,
but inappropriate love was already down the drain.
It should have been the old bitter viscosity.
All I have is a hangover truth:
better to love what you cannot have than to force down disgusting, eager, con-artist delusion.
Snap out of it.
I only prolonged the pain.
Fuck you stale wine.
You were never were good for anything at all other than making me hate myself.

3 Doors

Homestead, love-loss, disparity.
Plunder.
Hell is not beneath my walls,
but the street that burns with larceny. They will wave at you
wided grinned as respect holds a solemn face.
We stand in the row.
l noticed without any parade.
These doors open,
and they can sometimes be locked tight despite any circumstance.
Double bolt the welcome of some.
Hold open others with arms willing to share pain.
3 doors.
As I sat on the stoop of one
love loss came.
Bewildered, disdained,
remembering what barely remained.
I begged for entrance and now I'm stuck in the street
Desperation emanates.
The padlock cracks...
short-lived... goodbye.
2 doors remain.
One empty but comforting
the other filled with dread.
How is it that one saw your worth as the other push you under the doormat?
I knocked on all three.
Some said it wasn't my place to determine whether I was a stranger.
Ironic entrance awaits as I stood looking at each direction.
The gatekeeper nods and I look willingly and an entrance I've already been through.
3 doors, 3 ways to manipulate how I should feel.
Take a small sympathetic invite while you can because the other portals are both literally and metaphorically empty.

She Knows

She knows the denial and truths.
She knows the unfortunate place you stand.
 In all this beauty
 cross your arms.
 Don't take a word past misjudgment.
She knows.
Her audience feels an ocean in the pits of their stomachs.
He gave a tale that should have shown she was frail
yet stands as if still steel stakes
were hammered into her kneecaps.
 She believes a liar
 hell-bent on desire
just to finally have something she can call her own.
The devil comes promising everything she could ever want.
She knows, and she asked him to not let her regret this.
There's no home.
There's no common place,
but her hell swept survival depends on torment and destruction.
It burns as ravaging faces sneer at her blow.
It's a wind of unconsideration.
A breeze stirring malice.
The unkind.
The immoral.
The uneducated.
The ones who arrived just in time.
I know.
I heard everyone's words but wish for them to all be wrong.
When you believe in the devil,
he will taunt your very name.
You're already his own,
and all the pacts,
and blessings fall away into ash stoking the fire.
I knew.
Somehow I believed him anyway.

For

For when you try to forget:
For it is a regret,
and the bare mind captures the thoughts behind you.
For it has been said
unspoken words can be misread, misjudged,
or silently processed.
Forethought, foreseen, unpleasantly forgiven.
For I forced myself to stay away from you.
I thought it was for the better.
In desperate times I see now it was for the worst.
I was so much happier then.
If I come running back
will I be forsaken?
Here I am
forlorn in a lonely predicament
I put myself in for you.
I was not selfish.
You have some formidable cost that I considered for a long time.
For this sadness is a spirit
that is somehow lost.
Foreshadowing is a fortune teller.
After all this is said and done
without you it's hard to move forward.
Please come back.
For my fortune is an empty handed demon that left me looking for yours.