poetry for reflection on a rusty razorblade

Moths like snowflakes

fill the air

infinite numbers

like daydreams are there.

Dance as they will

and flutter around,

land on the water to

flutter and drown.

I
One can hope and dream forever

and the dreams will fade away.

And the hopes become naught.

Who and Why, are but the questions of a fool.

And it all boils down to me and to you.

And its just fingernails on a chalkboard.

It makes no sense.

II
There are days, (but mostly hours)
when forgetting makes it all rosy again.
But there's unsatisfied hunger clawing
at the back of your throat.
Thinking about it brings the
painful, aching bite of tears.
And there's only one answer left to explore.
And that is the infinite.

III
Beyond life.
But, what if that's worse?
So you sit back and wait.
And each day dawns bright with promise.
And each promise is made to be broken
by nightfall.

IV
New things can make you forget.
But they get old very quickly.
And even silver tarnishes over time.
And things cannot buy happiness.
Only people can bring you happiness.
And sometimes they don't want to.

V
Sometimes tomorrow never comes.
And sometimes it is better that way.
There is no time like the present.
Never gonna let love get in the way again.
If I could only get this one to end.
Well, maybe tomorrow.

Home Is Where The Hearth Is

The fields are barren waiting to be turned.
The trees are bare of leaves.
The days are shorter.
The streams flow ice.
Crisp and clean is the air.
And inside the hearth doesn't burn.
There is no homey cheer.
Deep inside, the ice crystals
have turned you to your fears.



My Life's A Book Of Matches

My life's a book of matches,
Burning one or two at a time,
Everything I've done til now
Had no scheme or rhyme.
Once in a great while,
I had a reason to live.
And I'd burn a few more matches,
A brighter light I'd give.
Now I've reached a turning point,
with half my matches gone,
And your smile was the spark,
that turned the other half on.
With ten out, burned to a crisp,
and the last ten, full a flame,
In the darkness that comes next,
I doubt I'll find a way.
With a the time before the spark,
there were ten others left to light.
But when you blow these out,
There'll be darkness through the night.



The end?