Searching For Tomorrow

Right now...
The abyss of unattainable light;
seething in desperation;
breathing corrosion and decay;
of emotion
Hopes tattered and frayed;
An eternal climb
with no footholds;
An intanglible window of escape;
Captivated and imprisoned by depression;
Tossing pennies into an invisible dimension;
Wishing from the depths of an arid well;

Tomorrow...
can't even be contemplated.
Dreams Scotch-taped to my eyes;
running water and swaying trees;
air I can breathe;
a living I enjoy and excel in;
a piece of art, yet a piece of me;

But...
it's too dark to take pictures!

Him...
As much as I long for the day,
I can't see him in tomorrow either,
but like never before,
I want him there.
The water would be bluer.
The trees would be greener.
I would be me.
It's hard to rise each morning
and get through each day.
I hope he knows
I breathe each breath
for a tomorrow with him.

February 28, 1994

Down

Why does this always happen to me?
Am I not giving all I could be?
All I wanted was his care.
Now I'm stuck in this nightmare.

Being kicked when I'm down;
Such a pattern thou hath found.
Every time I truly feel,
I hook myself to the reel.

There just isn't peace in love.
In man, there just isn't enough,
but then, in me, is there too much?
For I get burned by every touch.

I know he'd feel this way too,
but this I'd never put him through.
If I saw even a glimpse of pain,
not for a moment could I disdain.

I don't care how mad I might grow.
Only love and affection would show.
No matter how angry, I never could.
No matter how frustrated, I never would.

Reasons and whys; Nothing would matter.
Such is not the time for chatter.
I wouldn't ask him to be more patient.
In fact, I'd try to be his sedation.

I've come to learn I'm just alone.
I just really do not have a home.
For me, sincerity is not meant to be.
There is no one here for me.

One not to question or
turn my hurt into a war.
All I want is to be held;
to have some of my feelings felt.

To have someone stick up for me;
to feel someone look out for me;
Am I selfish? Fine!
I'm just so damn tired of waiting in line.

When do I get paid back?
For all I've taken; all the slack;
Unwanted pain; unwanted tears;
Only people who laugh at my fears;

Mock me or tell me to relax;
I'd like to see how they'd react.
One person can only take so much.
For a while, I was numb to the touch,

but, my patience is wearing thin.
My drive isn't making it.
I've reached the point where I could give in
'cause I can't face all alone again.

I'm ready to cut all my strings
'cause I don't hear the birdies sing
anymore.

February 27, 1994

Nineteen

Nineteen years old;
a baby;
adult by physical means,
but child in mind;

So sure;
my whole life I was so sure
of myself;
of my ability.
Now what?

Nineteen years old
and frightened;
cold and alone in this world;
lost at heart;

So tired;
at last I've become so tired
of life;
of living;
No motivation left.

Nineteen years old,
wondering
if twenty is worth it?

February 27, 1994

Times Like These

It's times like these.
That's why we're here.
When all that matters,
is that we're near.

Although you're in
the world of sleep,
we're still together,
and closer we creep.

Your head in my lap;
my arms holding you;
words flow from my pen,
but my heart sings too.

The air feels safe.
A warmth prevails.
It's times like these
we just can't fail.

It's times like these
that make it all right.
It's the fun-filled days
and the intimate nights.

It's laughing
when no one else sees what's funny.
It's shopping
when we don't have any money.

It's just being close
with no point or aim.
It's needing,
but wanting just the same.

Nothing is so precious;
as special and dear.
It's times like these.
That's why we're here.

February 18, 1994

The Peddler

He carries a bag over his left shoulder.
You might say it's a ware holder,
for it's full of plenty worth,
but not of any tangible Earth.

You won't find many trinkets in his sac.
Such material items, the peddler lacks.
He just wanders from town to town,
but call out for him and he's nowhere around.

He peddles that which everyone craves,
but for that price which everyone pays.
For happiness in love that you may find;
for a full heart; contentment; peace of mind.

You can thank the peddler for these things,
but there's a price, remember, for what he brings.
He comes to town and a smile greets your face.
Your whole world changes when he visits your place.

Loneliness is exchanged and leaves your heart.
Your life takes on a whole new start,
but soon the peddler must move on,
and before he and his bag are gone,

he must collect his fare.
This is when you pay your share:
Your time; your patience; your communication skills;
They're all now part of your bills.

Some of your desires; your freedom; your yesterday;
They're all in his possession as he walks away.
Someday you might get them back,
but then something else will lack.

The peddler carries a bag of wonders.
He always sells to the cold and hugry.
The peddler knows just what we need.
The peddler is part of you and me.

February 16, 1994

Vendor Of Silence

All I want to do is please you;
see you smiling; grabbing my hand,
but no matter what I do,
it's still alone I stand.

The smile comes,
but not at the times I want it most.
When it does,
I wish I could freeze its life.

My actions are intended
to put you on top of the world,
believe it or not.

My energy is wasted.
You distance yourself.
On purpose or not;
It matters not.

I feel sad and alone.
I tell myself I won't try anymore,
but that's a self-endowed trap.
The minute I stop trying
is the minute my soul dies.

The only thing I desire
is you here with me;
not just parts,
but all.

This time, as others,
I was doing for you,
yet I feel like the selfish one.

The core of this depression
is reaction.
You sell the air so quickly
to silence.

That's the reason my sadness lingers.
Not because of the initial regret,
but the way you carry it through.

February 16, 1994