Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

There is No Title

How many rotten things
in Denmark, Scotland
or Ireland...
My words gone
called away wasted
into a void, black hole
of eventual love tuned
out, turn away, tone deaf
when there's nothing to
say or hear...
My words gone into
a length of no tomorrow.
How many more times
would it be ok to whisper
in your ear, "I miss you"
You become a shadow I need
to touch. Kill me with this
closeness just out of reach,
worse than before and still
worth the pain.

I'm not alright,
but I will be.

1 comment:

atomicvelvetsigh said...

ive always been fascinated by the snow. and how it feels empty and yet exhilirating to witness and experience it alone, adds up to a mix emotions of joy and sorrow.

i like your poems.

drop by my blog sometime.