Truth once told me

Truth once told me
that Uncertainty
will one day kill me.

So off I set to find Un-C
yet upon meeting him
I could only blame Stress.

Stress addled and full of bile
haughtily stalked towards me
and after a few choice words
told me to go accuse Denial.

Denial of course was always near
I tried as much as I could to look him in the eye
but behind Denial stood Fear. 

knowing

i cannot see past this misery

it catches me unaware

i avert my eyes from happiness

it is a but a cruel reminder

of all that i cautiously….yet…willingly….hoped would be

and though i’ve always prepared for failure

i feel winded even before the blow

i feel hollow even before i know

of what i fear i already know is true

i cannot begin to imagine

what this will do to me

dead and dying

young and old

dead and dying

when did we believe we were invincible?

when did we grasp immortality?

when was it ever judged fair to lose a life

where are the ones that never returned?

why do memories fuzz and fade?

why do we forget what will always remain true?

young and old

newly born and aged beyond

dead and dying

dying and dead

and yet

there are

the ones who are dying to be dead

and so i know now

and so i know now

but before

i could only accumulate

reasons that were true before

and though they were not given by you

they spoke for you in your absence

until your words came to my heed

until your voice came like a soothing balm

of what you thought was true

of what you hoped i knew

but what i dared not believe

until it came from you

 

solemn busker

Solemn busker
Will you ever be nearer to me
Than you are with your wistful violin?
How else could you ever dare?
How else could I ever bare?
How else could this be?
Do not act as if it is only I who deceive.
It is only music after all
Played better by hands less grimely-worn than yours
Yet to rest a finger upon the violin’s rest….
Am I as agitating as the poverty that demeans you before me?
Do you ever hope that the thrown coins
fall from a closely distance?
that my smile is not only for your tune?
I know you play “Ave Maria”
Only for me
Though badly
Do you ever escape into an imagined embrace
Of course you would
For I should never admit
That I do.

foolish zenith

sometimes
having reached
a foolish zenith

 reason surpasses
the enduring calls of
past words

all that is subjected to difference
seems thinly veiled as the last

all disguising the one truth
with no more than a
used epiphany