Dark Poetry Prose Poetry March 19, 2003 Dark Poetic Prose

3-19-03 wednesday 9:65pm brick NJ

what i wanted now
pales in comparison
to who and how
we are me and you;

what the moon foretold
in her motions of the tide,
the ebbs lied as they
kissed the sand,
the turning came and went
just like a page out of
a play unfinished;

do you know?
do you want to?
i speak in tongues
of love and poetics,
but i wonder why
i can't just say it;

does the wind move
against us or to push?
does the night bring darkness
or just the light's absense?

you knew once
long before i ever knew you,
you lived it once long before
i ever dared you to live again;

so maybe i'm to blame,
perhaps i was asking still pictures
to come into motion;
knowing they surely could not,
maybe instead of the photographs
i saw the negatives instead.

poetry and prose fluctuate
as do my moods,
rhyme and rhythm dance
as do my thoughts,
it's a lot to take,
more than i expected
would ever come out of
this innocent exchange.

the words write themselves
as i sit back and wonder at,
the verses achieve i life i've never,
as i sit back at wonder
at how they can do that;

if it's not you,
if it's nt me,
then who?
if it's nothing more than
just these lives
we inhabit,
then hope be
only a speculation,
and nothing we cling to
is tangible;
nothing we claim to have
is really ours;
nothing has ever been,
but moments lost in
time's petty arbitrations;

if this is my last verse,
though i am sure it isn't,
but if it was, i'd hope that
you could somehow find it,
find what lives in me within in,
if this is my last verse,
though i am certain it isn't,
i'd hope only that you'd
find the real me within it,
that it would prove much better
than the sack of flesh
you've heretofore encountered;

i know that the end
is what we make and
not what we make of it,
i know that goodbye is a choice,
yet rarely a decision;

is this it?
or has it just always been?
is this all that we can be?
is this our very best?

it's not the end,
it's not the heart of it,
it's not anything i care
to make a memory of,
but it's something special
nevertheless;

it's not you,
it's not me,
but it could be us-
just the idea of
might be too much
for either of these lives
to trust;

i used to take it into
my heart, tomorrow maybe -
or the next, but now i just
take it as it comes,
now i just take it
like a drug, wait for
the darkness to make
everything the same again,
to make it all as easy as it once was;

that's all that's left,
sad as it may be,
that's all i can remember
without the need to
dig yet another grave,
that's all i can say that
isn't another eulogy,
it's not wrong,
it's not right,
it's just what is,
what we've always been;

more than you can give,
less than i need.
better still than,
but never enough,
so much better than
anything i've ever had,
but not enough
to change us,
never enough to make
anything real out of
these haunted hearts;

i can't not love,
i can't not remember,
i can't deny you my friend,
but i'm tired and i'm lonely
and it doesn't seem to matter
to anyone, even i don't care anymore,
i couldn't turn from you,
i couldn't hurt you,
i always will be whatever
i can that you need,
but i'm so tired,
i'm so lonely, and no one seems care,
not even me.