Hopeless and Hopeful

When I awake,

and feel this ache

I think that I,

may have made a mistake.

The pain that’s pleasant,

Things clearly confused,

It’s easier gone,

but better this way.

Does she know what she does,

when she looks in my eyes,

as the world fades,

I stand paralyzed.

I stutter, I stop

I stumble, I fall

Falling or flying

I find myself dying of love.

Dying but living,

Getting and giving,

Lost but found,

the worlds turned upside down.

What are these feelings,

so hopeless and hopeful?

Advertisements

One and done #4

Daggered Surgeon
Dagger to the misplaced heart,
Deep and deadly wound is felt,
But from the surgeons hand,
Who holds the bladed tool,
The dagger is a scalpel,
The wound a small discomfort,
In the healing of the heart,
Restrengthened to beat fervently,
Carved for some greater purpose.

I was sitting in a bus station waiting for my bus to arrive and my mind went into poetry mode. I was thinking about passed girls that I had really liked, but for one reason or another and in one way or another had parted from me. I know none of these girls was the girl for me, and I don’t lament their leaving now. The fact is however true that when they did depart my life I was left with a deeply felt loss. Sometimes for a few days, others weeks, a select few months. The first two lines of the poem popped into mind and the rest followed in less then 10 minutes. It is short and fairly simple, but I believe it to be very poignant.

Mangled Metal

Mangled metal, smoldering,
Young man’s sarcophagal
Holding cell.
His sentence
Was life,
Held for only moments.
It came too fast,
the other car,
And death.

Smoke passed,
burning rubber
Painting the ground black.
Before red stained it too.
Wreckage, wreaking havoc
On a mother’s soul.
As she stands weak
Limbs failing, she falls.

A mother
and a son,
Both lying
On the same road.
One struggling to breathe
The other
Already lost the struggle.

Red-blue flashing
Paramedics dashing
Moving fast,
Not fast enough,
To bring a mother’s
Baby home again.

Her last words,
Ironically superficial
Robotic in their structure,
“Drive safe, have fun.”
His response
A mumbled
“Don’t worry. Later mom.”

Now later,
mom doesn’t worry.
You can only worry
For the living.
She only grieves.

Cascading sorrow
Fills her speeding heart.
Inexplicable loss.
In a quick fatal crash.
A mother’s world
Crashing down.
They don’t make seat belts
For the soul.

In the pain,
She wishes for more time.
She would say
so much more.
And he would respond.

But if she had never
Received the dreadful call.
And he had come home,
Thirty Three minutes,
Past curfew like usual.

Would anything have changed?
Would she more precisely
Voice her care and concern?
And he respond
In more than
inaudible agreement?

Perhaps not.
Perhaps that simple
Constant everyday,
“Drive safe, have fun”
and that murmured,
“Don’t worry. Later mom.”
Meant the same thing,
Synonyms for “I love you.”

Grace Lynn Anne
Your son is gone.
But he knew you loved him,
And he loved you too.