Dark Poetry Prose Poetry January 14, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

01-14-03 tuesday 9pm brick NJ

all been said,
but too quiet;
all questions
have been answered,
just not to my satisfaction,
not answers i can accept.

if i'm supposed to be
the one you turn to,
then you should
return the favor,
if i'm supposed to be
that person always there,
i don't mind,
just be the same
when i'm;

all the lights
that the night sends
in the midst of
tattered comtemplations,
like unrhymed couplets,
they won't make sense
until we find the words
to complete them.

in the darkness
headaches crave words
i can't offer them,
in the universe between
my life and the rest,
i wonder how and why
they would or do,
or even can,
their worlds so full of
need and lust,
i shudder to think
what it really means to them,
and how they quiet their hearts
when there's only silence left;

your voice is a hope
that teases when all hope has gone,
your love is a compass i use
to find myself when i am lost,
but i don't know where i'm going,
i don't have a destination,
i'm always trying to reach you,
but as i get closer you move further,
as i near you pull back,
it's a game we've both become accostumed to,
it's a part of you i've come to accept,
but it's still hard,
it's still hard to keep walking when
every step only keeps me even;

to love you has always been easy,
easier than i would've liked it to,
to love you is what i choose,
but even still, i'm not immune
to the weight of time,
the frailty of life;

loving you has always been easy,
much easier than i wanted it to,
but to be me and feel this,
harder than you'd think,
the heart insists,
but the spirit weakens,
the heart's promise is boundless,
but the will has definite limits,

writing comes without request,
like a sigh or a heavy breath,
to exhale the thoughts too sober
to keep inside this weakened flesh,
the verses walk like lonely hitchikers
thumbs outcasts, begging for a lift,
the verses sulk along the highways
of my long and dreary life,
pleading for a ride,
but you don't stop,
you just keep on driving.