Tag Archives: lost love

The Second Sun

The gif plays over and over on my phone,

the purgatory of a captured motion,

over and over and over, just that moment.

She is there, on the moors, a late autumn morning,

still green and bright, before the snow, before the

sun hid it’s face for a season.

Long brown hair blowing in the cold wind,

a luminescence in her dark eyes, and that smile,

that was the second sun, earthbound warmth.

I captured the moment, to keep that perfection

forever, to never lose the way she shone, or

the contentedness I felt with her in the wilds.

A year later, her no longer my lover, I still cherish

her and watch my favorite moment repeat, over and over

the purgatory of trying to recapture a perfect moment.

Over and over it repeats, always the same there,

when she loved me and all was well, I had all

I ever dreamed of.

I can never go back to that bright morning on

the moors, to that shard of Eden, and repetition

just dulls even bittersweet aches, the sweet sadness.

Over and over, the purgatory of compulsion, of

repeating old pleasures because everything is faded here,

and I can’t let her go, even though she let me go.

An Innocent Art

If ever I loved a woman pure and true,

if ever I gave my best, it was to you.

If ever I chose to be angel, holy and brave,

it was for you, only you, as I knelt in the knave.

Train ride on a rainy night, I got left behind.

It’s still raw, the memory of you in my mind.

It’s not gone well since you left for Lincoln.

I fight all these demons, turn to often to drinking.

The city I’ve always known, seems dirty and small.

I can’t find my voice, knowing you won’t answer the call.

I cherish you, the tender wound in my heart,

for it’s still the best of me, loving you, an innocent art.

You’ve done well, and I slip into the same routine.

We were close on a place high up and inbetween

the summers of a small hope, and summer of loss.

I still carry you in me, hoping our paths will again cross.

The train comes to the station, I walk home in the rain,

I never made it to Domremy or the warm coast of Spain.

I try and fight on, like you always believed I was able.

I try and fight on, despite thee empty chair at my table.

Watery And Washed Out

The Martian sunrise is watery and washed out,
the “Red Planet” a dull and dim color.
The habitat is white and too bright, screens we watch,
to remember forests and oceans and home.
I would dream of the ones I left behind, the family, friends, lovers
but my world had passed on.
The stars seemed like they’d burn away my tears, and I could
believe in a mission, but my heart’s not in it.
In the dark of my pod, such gorgoues stars outside the porthole,
I remember a child I once was, who dreamed.
But angels and magic and love and the world has fallen from me,
Even in my dreams, pieces do not fit.

Tyson Park

The bridge rumbles, even in the dead of night, with people going
on down the road, somewhere to be, something important to see.
Down below, I sit on a swing in the park playground, listening to
the crickets thrum against the noise of traffic, the dark birds coo.
The all too bright light of the streetlamps chases the shadows that
could soothe, or conceal my fear, or give a recompense to the dead.
Swing myself back in forth, as if to rock to sleep the things choking
my mind, my turbulent lust for meaning, my bleeding hate for the sun.
I came here with her, once, when there seemed hope to escape this town
and the sprawl of dead inteligience and worthless holiness and cheap love.
I can’t call her face, though she stil grips my heart like a fist, squeezes blood
that is the last remnant of youth, that will be soaked into this barren fertility.
No booze, no cigarette, not even heartbroken, lovelorn bullshit music now,
to make it seem holy and precise, clean and worthwhile, just my hot, lost thoughts.
Wait for a cop to come to chase me on back home, to that hateful cell I can’t escape.
No marrow in these memories to nurture a sweeter death, just wasted time.
Too much light to see the stars, trackmarks of the heavens, scars of infatuation.
The moon sells herself like a precious whore, no solace if you’re bored with sex.
Sun and moon, stars and night torn out in colorless strips, harvested flesh of the world.
I just want to sleep, dreamless, for it’s all worthless here for me, dreams offer nothing.

The Night Is Without Mercy

Awake in the middle night. There will be no more sleep.
Daylight seems like it will never come, some broken promise.
Thoughts of the world burning, of evil winning forever and ever.
I try to remember hope, and sweetness, a beautiful lover to adore.
But I am alone in the dark, without hope, without the solace of touch.

There’s a rumble in the distance, a dark god clearing his throat
before he screams the storm down upon us, just to do it, just to hurt us.
So much pride in human hearts, so much pious cruelty, sanctimonious death.
The light and the dark don’t seem so different, when the blood is spilled.
The night is without mercy, and the storm washes away all the world.

 It seems like an eternity ago, a whole other life, a whole other world,
when a woman lay beside me, when we were at peace holding each other.
When the rain was a whisper of some gentle angel, giving us sweet dreams.
We had hope of all that white picket fence bullshit, of a family, or happiness.
She’s long gone, and both of us our dead even as we live, lost to all warmth.

Jen and Amanda

Jen and Amanda, who were they?
Two friends, lovers? I can’t say.
But this old vampire book I hold
was inscribed with pretty ink bold
that told Jill that Amanda loved her so,
that where ever Jill went, Amanda wanted to go.
But her the book is in a used book store,
left by Jill, who didn’t love Amanda anymore.
Love comes as sweet and silvery as the moon,
and like morning after a cherished evening, leaves too soon.
I hope Amanda found someone who stayed,
and that that person didn’t leave, passion betrayed.

Quiet Churches, Empty Theatres and Lost Innocence

The nursery school is empty for the night.
The lights our out. Only weak evening sun
shines through the windows, making the
happy animals and bright colors so eerie.
 I’m the youngest, the newest hire here,
so I clean it all up and put it in order, make
it all bright and new again for the happy children
that come here, the only ones who love me.
 Such happy and sweet and innocent children,
so full of magic and dreams and wild thoughts.
There energy carries me through the day, makes
me happy and love life again, until night comes.
 This place is creepy at night, emptied out, like a
church without worshippers and singing, or a theatre
disused and left only for ghosts to sing to the angels.
A place of life without light is a grave with a rictus smile.
 Those children, and the children yet to come, all the children
to be born in whatever time us humans have left to live here,
what will happen to them? Why does corruption and evil find
them out? Why can’t we stay clean and pure? Why must we fall?
 The drizzling rain is coming down, like a quiet cry over wine,
as I go to my little, used car, heading home to be alone and
not, no not, think of the man who left me behind after I gave
him my soul, my heart, my pride, all the good I ever was.
 He was a child once, clean and happy and innocent and pure
as the little boys I care for, who blush when I little girl hugs
them or play knights and have only love in their wild hearts.
He was once innocent. So was I. Look at us now.
 I don’t even make home to my wine before the quiet cry comes.

Two Sides of the Moment

I remember the first girl I kissed. I remember the time I had with her as being perfect, even holy. There was no darkness or fear in those two days, only peace and her love.

I still warm myself by that memory, and by her, in the worst parts of sleepless nights, shitty days, and just times when it seems like everything is hopeless and just empty.

I haven’t seen or heard from her in over ten years. Life separates people. Things change. People come and go and you turn your head and when you look back there gone forever.

I wonder if that time we had together, that moment of warmth in the cold grey of November, means anywhere near as much to her as does me, how does she see it, then and now?

I was lonely and angry and just in the darkest days of my life, and she was like an angel, a piece of some better world, some strange miraculous wonder. The last shining light for years.

Who was I to her? A cute guy? Someone she did care for? Does she ever think of me, now? Would I want to see her again? Ask her what it meant to her? Should I just keep my own fire lit?

I am to young to have these lonely old man thoughts, but here we are. So much time to fill, without my own family or even close friends, just me and the thoughts that fill my head.

Goodnight sweetheart, God bless you, I hope your life is wonderful, and full of love.

Part of me will always be in love with you, and will remain in that tourist town, in cold November.


Emily Jo

Trees line the creek,
 which babbles, mumbles,
 over slick rocks it tumbles;
 you hear it speak!
Hidden from view,
 a seperate place to hide,
 as big as heaven is wide,
 just me and you!
None hurt us here!
 Our place of dreams!
 We are born of sunbeams!
 We make all disappear!
We are king and queen
 of Atlantis or Camelot.
 Some place forgot.
 Oh! What we’ve seen!
Emily Jo, Emily Jo,
 I still dream of that time!
 Those days and their Rhyme!
 Where did it all go?

After Summer

On the coast, as the cold storms come, tourist season over.
The stilled merry-go-rounds and closed up food stalls.
The closed shops and empty beaches and neon gone dark.
Just me and my thoughts here, in the harsh wind, salty air.

Summer comes and goes, the sun rolls around the sky.
A lover comes and sets a light that I flitt around wildly.
A temporary moon in my sky, that I guide myself by.
But lovers go, and winter comes, and all the excitment goes.

 On the sand, among eternally wandering dunes, I watch waves
crash and roll back, and the clouds part for the sun, a little light.
Another girl I’ll remember has gone from me, a sweet, holy wound.
The sea seems eternal in it’s distance, but one day it too will pass away.