Thursday, July 21, 2011

Blind Run

Cliche alert: Life changes in a blink of an eye.

Mine has.

One day I feel comfort and security in life,
the next on the opposite end
of the poles.

Reduced to wondering
about the immediate future
and how

I'll survive,

life is just this stupid dance of
rolling the dice and living with
the end

fails me
with every roll.

Trust out the window;
curiosity too insecure.

I need answers
but have nowhere to find them.

No on to speak with.

No one I can pull
into the mess
known as my fucked up life.

Yet I can't help but
realize the truth
behind the self-fulfilling prophecy.

I've written about the man stuck
in a loveless marriage
and I have become the man
or perhaps
his bitter wife.

Did not see this one coming.

Can't help but wonder
where I fit in or if I ever did.

Can't keep thoughts connected
or find any balance as suggested
in today's horoscope.

My life is in neutral,
or perhaps grinding gears.

Why the suspense
when I've seen this
unfolding slowly?

Who can I blame?

Or maybe the fates
just like to shake it up enough
to make me wonder about life,

the universe

and why I have nowhere to run
except the corners of manuscripts.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Run Away

Perhaps she isn't capable of true love.

No doubt in my mind that self-doubt prohibits anything true.
Worthless and empty, a field of white with no light at the edge.

How can anyone embrace her when her arms
don't reach around her back? Dreams an illusion of desire not meant for her.

Mirrors shattered in
tiny pieces,
fragments so small that nothing reflects
except the empty sky.

Is it any wonder that the one
who proclaimed his true love
is filled with stress after so many years of
doubting her faith?

Because of him she remains the cactus. Filled with spiny pins,
resisting drought,
flowering only when the mood strikes her.

Her life the desert where few roam
and very little life exists.

Dreams of the past haunt her nights
under the starless sky,
flames rising to nothingness.

Her world a mess. Blank.
No room for prose of any color.

Why must she win
when it means little to her?

Yet she understands that
some rewards come to
those deserved;

but love comes to no one,
yet another delusion for the weak.