The dance of he and she.Lover waits,in quiet opposition,waiting for her to come.Quiet sits he,as couples quarrel,within listening distance of him.Nothing says he,as minutes tick by,and she is no where to be seen.Nothing does he do,as pain sweeps over,those in proximity.No where can he go,as moments grow,listening for her voice.Actions he won't take,play out around him,in a sob, or a weep, or a cry.Movements he won't act,watching the stark white walls,with nothing but hope.Something he can't do,happens for him,in the action of child who let go.And then he knows,she is gone,he cannot wait,he cannot be quiet,he cannot go home,he cannot do that,he will never do that,he should never put her,to rest,out of thought,out of mind,out of life,out of spirit,forever.It doesn't matter,she is dead,she is gone,she is silenced,she is ascending,never to come back.He will remember,he will stay,he will continue,he will mourn,he will laugh again,he will love again,for her sake.Be
Someday He.Some day he'll come along,the man I love,sporting roses,chocolate,and a ring.Some day he'll come along,the man I date,with a tattoo,a guitar,and a different kind of ring.Some day he'll come along,the man I consider,carrying a career,an apartment,and questionable love.Some day he'll come along,the man I leave,coming with tailored suits,distant perfume,and a wife.Some day he'll come along,the man I cry over,supporting my life,my fantasy,and my backbone.Some day he'll come along,the man I marry,with kisses,and promises,and a tacky receptionist.Some day he'll come along,the man I cheat,with too much to do,too little time,and none for me.Some day he'll come along,the man I loose,with no vices,no faults,and being the man I wishI'd only got to know.
Twilight HourThe Twilight Hour(for the Twilight Hand Campaign)She whispers soft,sweet discords,of undying love,and steadfast recollection.Remembering the easy times,and the not so.Weather it isglinting golden eyesobsidean poolsor ruby rays of revenge,you can be assuredthat she is there,with he.And they are one,though torn apart,by worlds,and fantasies,and love,and hate,and death,and life,and souls,and the question ofreligion.And they are whole,even if a howling wolf,breaks betweento make three too many,and two too few.We wait,we watch,we anticipate,the breaking of dawn,from the herald of a eclipsed new moon,shattered then,from twilight.
You are.You are.You area fool.Couldn't evenconfess that you loved me once,when I asked youto think back.You area liar.Couldn't evenlook me in the eyewhen I pulled your faceto stare at mine.You area mistakecouldn't evenlift your hand higherwhen I screamedto you 'it doesn't hurt.'You area folly.Couldn't evenfinish what you startedwhen I begged youto push the safety.You area coward.Couldn't evenpull the triggerwhen I pressed itto my chest.So finish it.Quick.Before I do.
Voice.Voice.With one voice we can:stop a bulletconvince a companionspeak our distresskill a soulmurder the youthfire a pistol.With one thought we can:Bring peaceinspire childrenteach millionsburn precedentstear down hopespark fear.With one hand we can:care for the sickstroke away a tearsmother the sorrowstrangle innocenceslap good fortunesmight our passions.With that one voicewith that one thoughtwith that one hand,we choose to take the latter,and annihilate futures,by being ignorant,and greedy.Immersing ourselvesin narcissistic societies.Why can't we use thatone voiceone thoughtone handto emulate thosewho use themto stop our prejudices,and bring lifeto the thingswe so often happento destroy.
Strangers.From beneath the gray fedora,lies a stranger's eyes.Darting back and forth,from soul to soul,and watching the streetsbleed forth peopleinto the urban limelight.He watches the following:A couple wrappedin eachothers infatuation.A child lostscreaming for a mother's touch.An elderly pairice skating together like they've done for years.A poet's inspirationleaping from synaps to synaps.From across the city street,lie the other eyes,searching for the singular pairthat will watch with her,search for herand connect with only her.For a moment,the stranger locks eyeswith only her,and is enraptured,for a moment,but only a moment,because as his eyes tear awayhe sees new eyes,and a new figure,and a new love,and a new life,and a new woman,that he could lovebetter than the searcher.These new eyesare holding the truthfor him,and only him.And as he follows her gaze,he sees thatshe has found her oneand it is not him,as he had hoped,so he ducks into his hat,l