I had a picture in my head
of the man I wanted to be
but I’ve settled instead
on this fragile forgery.
I don’t know what transpired
that turned my dreams aside
or what forces conspired
to crush them ’til they died.
But I can feel the holes
where they used to dwell;
all the shining goals
before they burned out and fell.
Forcing me, at last, to part
with the me I carried in my heart.
One day while walking down the street
I met a man who hung his head
down terribly low in defeat
without so much as a crust of bread.
I offered him some food
and sat down for a while
and knew that I’d done good
by his contented smile.
And as the time flew by
I listened to his story
and then he asked me why
I cared for his history.
“I stopped today and shared this meal
because I know how eating alone feels.”
I kneel before the Goddess
humbled in her sight.
And I come here to confess
my love for her tonight.
She makes the forest and the field,
the mountain and the hill;
makes me weak and makes me yield
yet provides me with my fill.
Underneath the moon
I listen to her song,
a sweet, shimmering tune
that makes me feel like I belong.
And it’s only because of her grace
I feel that I have found my place.
One day while idly waiting
I saw a sight divine
I wasn’t anticipating
walking in the sunshine.
Her hair was bright as gold
and she held her head up high.
Her dress was vivid, short, bold,
and the color of the sky.
I couldn’t help but look
and watch her hips sway
with every step she took
as she walked along my way.
I sat there, slack-jawed, and observed
every hint of every curve.
I’m getting ready to go out and dine
with fine company
to enjoy some new cuisine and wine
and camaraderie.
I’m showered and I’m clean
but I’m leaving the beard.
Would it be OK to wear some jeans
or would that be too weird?
I researched the venue
and found out the address
and I’m dreaming of the menu
with impatient eagerness.
Now all that’s left to do is wait
until it’s time for my dinner date.
Boots polished until they shine
by soldiers standing tall and fit
arranged proudly in a line
as brothers, friends, a unit.
They fight for a noble ideal
and carry the banner high
with nerves and backbones of steel
charging forward through the sky.
But they just were not ready
for what was in store
and they could not stay steady
before the true horror of war.
Only some came home carrying their valor,
their haunted eyes, and deathly pallor.
Dishes cluttering in the sink
with more added all the time –
added with a clatter and clink
caked with gunk and with grime.
The laundry is piling so high
that it’s spilling out on the floor
and no matter how hard I try
I just can’t fit in any more.
The tables are covered in dust –
I no longer even care.
The shower is starting to rust
and the drain is clogged with hair.
How did things get so far gone?
What happened to my Avalon?
I saw it shining red
and slowing rising high,
an open wound that bled
up into the sky.
Some took it as a portent
of impending doom
and they, howling, went
off into the gloom.
Others were also disturbed
by the shining, sanguine sign
but their fears were curbed;
they knew things would be fine.
But only one of these is right –
perhaps you’ll find that answer tonight.
They’re hidden in plain sight,
all the secret signs:
the guideposts of the light,
the path of the divine.
Those who can conceive
all that they are gleaning
are those who also receive
the duty of its meaning.
They must travel at the fore
into the unknown dark
and blaze the way for more
who are following their marks.
And in this way each generation
carries on the conflagration.
They’re so self-important –
staring down their nose
regarding us as lesser, “ants”,
to be crushed beneath their toes.
They have only one lover
deserving their affection
and that one is no other
than their own reflection.
I have just as much use
for them as they for me
and often wish they’d choose
to love more quietly.
Because I don’t want to hear them prattle
about how they’re cowboys and not cattle.
A (wise) man of two faces 