of the house
forgotten by time;
a book on the table,
unopened.
footprints on the floor
covered with dust.
a cup in the sink
half-empty.
the wind blows
curtains grey with time….
whispering, whispering….
names that cannot
be heard.
voices, echoes,
creaking the floor.
a book of photographs
on the closet floor.
walking through the mist,
the fog and the shadows,
touching small particles
of being left like gifts….
lives unwrapped into mine!
and a basement…laid off, sold off,401k gone….Buick in the drive,repossessed!foreclosure packing,Kent State and Nixon,Reagon’s America….financial moral collapse.the smell of napalm lingersin houses left empty!
not the old song,not a fleeting memory.i am not the namethat parks behind yours,i am not the rent, the lights,or the groceries.i am not the excuse,the curse, or the lie….not the name of your fear,not your morals, or your chains.i am not the old mansitting in the chair,staring blankly out the window.i am not the…
the anger of those forgotten,cast aside, thrown away.those bound by the curse,of oppression, of slavery.those denied their basic rights,because they are different,because they have not.those misunderstood,those misled and ill informed.those with no chancefor anything more thanwhere they are now.those who hurt, who destroy,who take, who use and abuse,believing they, (and only they) ,are right…those who…
look at how you spend your time,what you expend your energy on,how you react to people around you,and whether you take the time to listen.not what you say, what you do!
patches of shadow.the threat of thunder,storms drip from the cup.bare branches budding,sap on the rise.this old body risesfrom its wintry grave!the fire that smolderedlaps out in flame.the need to touch,to create, and to die.early spring?a tornado, or just echoes.the ghost of winter still lurks,and tugs at the door!
oflosingmyself,keptmefromtheliberationoffindingmyself……for far too long!
