I thought
I was only going to write one poem tonight, but another immediately followed
the other. I think because I was looking for a play on my shelf and a bunch of
programs from my brother’s funeral fell down and scattered all over my floor. I
didn’t realize at first what they were but I picked them up and was a little
startled. Grief sometimes conks you hard on the head when you least expect it.
The
first poem, I’m not sure where that popped out from either except I’m studying hard
to pass more state tests and my mind wanders to “what if…” as in I don’t pass
and why things are hard, but then I say “shut up” to it and write poetry.
The
Bumpy Side of Easy Street
Some
people seem to skate
Having
not much on their plate
There
is another way to go
Even
though the way is slow
To struggle
and strain
And live
through pain
Or seem
like you are stained
You remain
walking without complaint
Dodging
boulders, rocks, and jumping potholes
Diving
down deep into the middle of your soul
A tunneling
out to break onto the surface
Searching
for a calling or purpose
Listening
hard to the whispers of God
Reminded
that you are his child on this sod
I
always wonder if the way was more smooth
Would
I be in a servant mood?
Or would
I slip off a path made of glass
To lounge
sweetly in the grass
Maybe
it just looks that way
Or I
catch a person on a good day
When
really, we all climb our way up
Wishing
there was a thing as luck
Grief’s
Burnt Offering
I have
a ripped corner
That
is leaking out
Ever
so slow my memories
When
each person I love goes
At
first, when they drop away
I
relive as much as I can
I
fan the flames of heartbreak
Working
tunes of long forgotten bands
Laying
out negatives
As a
slide show
And some
so faded
I
wonder if they can be rescued
To be
looked upon one more time
It is
agony not to see the detail
To guess
at colors
And washed
out faces
Looking
at hand written notes
With
handwriting I can’t decipher
When
my friends and relatives
Leave
me here
I
realize I only know half the story
Or haven’t
even heard it one time
And I
am cut again
So, the
tiny hole
Gives
way to the weight
Of the
sand like contents
Of my
longing
For one
more touch
Word
or wink
That
is a smothered flame
Still
smoldering under the substance
That
was us
Now the
thing that
Covers
and continues to smoke
Showing
that it was there
We were
there together
Now two
essences in contrast
Not able
to give each other
What
the other needs
Because
we are apart
The burnt
offering
Rising
to Heaven
Holding
up angles in choir robes
As it
is denser than clouds
And warns
as it warms
The citizens
of that city
Another
sacrifice has been made
To please
the mighty priesthood
And floodgates
of my eyes open
As the
charred spirit stings
Releasing
the song
For
only you I sing
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