Love Vanishing

It is frightening to be so in need of forgiveness, while unable to offer it.

Are you ever saddened by sleeplessness, with its images of what is real,

so not even your manufactured filters can alter or are able to soften it?

Or have you been, unlike me, allowed somehow your rage to heal?

Could I walk with you, through a memory or two, never once laying a finger on you.

if I promise not to cry, could you somehow find a smile for me?

Could I sing to you one of a hundred love songs, hoping the melody rings through,

or is it only the hat in the dustbin of the past that you find in style for me?

I much too often know too much in way too short a time after

the real usefulness of it is worn out from too much heat, too little kindness.

The crooked brainwaves, left ignored, up in the mind’s dusty rafters,

stuffed there by unthinking fools, each with their own little blindness.

A page of the binder left behind by everyday people, meant for her,

is filled edge to edge with a drawing of her, barely within a borderline.

Something outside of this scribbling has many times sent for her

and left a path of dead petals at random disorderly times.

Till she is back where she never has been, but has always meant to go;

there are paragraphs slipped in between, and at the end where none should be.

Fortitude has none to be looked at, Gratitude has none that it will show;

If some puny jesus parlor tricks could get her there, then there she would be.

Well then allright, sure, maybe one day resolution will come down to me,

like hearing the lightning and seeing the thunder, in the big city of Alone.

The generations of fools’ Ancestors shake their heads, having found me,

and left my soul and resolve stripped to the bone.