Site updated:
2-1-07

The List

I know that I pushed too far
and only you can see
what you did to me
for all my life to be
in as deep as can be
for without all this I see
that its you that pushed too far.

And now this life is cold
and it's you that put me where I'm at
by screaming at me like a cat
or making things worse like that
pulling a rabbit out of your hat
would make me disappear like that
or even make me feel so old.

Living a life of unloved dreams
as though my whole life it seems
has been forgotten like a fading myst
but my life is written within your list
of hopeless scribbles and senseless rhyme
that all the people will see in time
without all the glamour and gleem
and see my life of unloved dreams.

Hopeless and helpless I once wrote
and many read it as a joke
a collection of words well laid out
for others to read what I have spoke
a lifetime ago but without the joke.

Picking my pockets and found a past
that once was mine but didn't last
beyond the wandering of memories grasp
forgotten forever the words I hear
and without them brings only fear
for I lost the only things I hold dear.

My writings and ramblings are what I am
and for this I confess but what I can
I'll keep the memories I now have
of a past that I lost from within my grasp
and write what I can from memories missed
and continuing to add to this list
of hopeless scribbles and senseless rhyme
and let the people read one more time.

---

Fragile memories

Delicate sounds. So soft that even a whisper can shatter them.
What can I do? The words don't seem to come out.
To describe them, I would not give them justice.
I would only destroy all they stand for.
And this would close the book on all future words from me.
So instead I try writing them.
And even still, innuendo is all I manage to put down.
Deep inside, the words are all there.
I can feel them, right there, just out of sight!
But when I turn to look, they all mix up
like a mental game of scrabble
with all the tiles spread across the room.
They taunt me.
Start forming words, which make no sense at all.
Or make sentences that are nothing more than gibberish.
So even in writing, I cannot place my thoughts down.
And if I speak them, I chance ending it all.
It's unfortunate that the spoken word
can't be friends with the written word.
No, I cannot write what I've said.
That would not be fair to either.
Paper and pencil are never around when words are spoken,
and can't be recited when they become available.
And if the written words are spoken, it's only read.
So I need some other form to show what I have heard.
Sometime soon, before the memory breaks the delicate sound.