Dark Poetry Prose Poetry February 24, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

2-24-03 monday 9pm brick NJ

if it's february, but in my heart all that i feel is may.. what can it mean. what can it mean in a life that never knows just what to say. or when. if it's snow and all i feel is sun. if it's cloudy, but i can see the stars beckon... what can it mean to a life that's never known a reason to welcome tomorrow when it comes calling.

the cigarette nearing its end. the bottle now only half full. am i am optimist or a pessimist. or none of the them. perhaps just a silent verse in a song that no one can sing. perhaps just the rhyme that has nothing to rhyme with.

i can't look to you when there's nothing left to look to. but when i look within there's nothing to see. it's so empty that it blinds me. it's so hollow that even the things i don't say echo indefinitely.

opportunites have their many ways of taking what you thought was a blessing and sticking a fork in the road where you're quietly strolling. what's been, not so very different from before. what is, not so unsure that it can't continue. i just can't say that i want it to.

a voice on the other end reverberates with the could have beens that my heart has kept stored away in its farthest reaches. an admission that there are so many other places you'd rather be. it's not a shock, but it softens the ground beneath my feet. i sink deeper into my reality. waiting for the earth to consume me.

it's myself that i blame. it's myself that put me in this place. it's myself that took to a love i knew would never take me.

if it could be enough. how i wish that it could. but loneliness swings its hardest and hits another homerun with my heart. if it could be a win. or even just a tie. but i'm losing again. losing everything except myself. the one thing that i'd like to forget.

if i could make it short and sweet
i'd send it to you with all the
best of intentions,
if i could, but i can't;

if i could say it quickly
and quietly that a friend
has been, but that a friend
is almost worse than nothing,
if i could say it without losing
what we have, i would,
but i can't;

the wings of trust are
made of feathers from
the things worth rememebring;
the flesh of love is composed of
all that we can touch and
feel good about it,
really feel like more
could never be enough;

i'm gone, that's not odd,
you're there as you've been,
and we'll sit sometimes
pretending the distance
is not so great,
but we've crossed it,
in our hearts we know
the weight the bridge can sustain
is less than we would
put upon it.
in truth i know that bridge
stretches farther than
reality can keep up,
i was still hoping to meet
in the middle of it one or twice more
before it would collapse,
but i guess we lingered too long
at the center and now
it's no longer there to join us.