Candles

Candles
They can beautiful if the right person is watching
but often times they go unnoticed, unappreciated.
Their flames are small but still people sometimes shy away.
They never get close enough to feel the warmth that the candle has to offer
but if one gets too close they will get burned like any other fire.
They can endure for longer than one would expect.
Even when their solid foundation slips into liquid they can go on.
When someone softly blows on the wick the flame can sputter back to life
and continue like nothing ever happened but
it is a fire.
Out of control it has the potential to destroy all one holds dear
but allow a candle to burn and it will eventually destroy itself.
Despite all this, they offer light to those who choose to see
and those who choose not to.
Someone once said that people should be like candles
because no matter how many other candles are lit by one
its flame never gets smaller.
But being a candle sounds lonely.
They have to keep people away at all times
whoever sticks around gets burned.
Their flame has to stay the right size
if it gets too big people get scared of what it might do.
They have to avoid bad conditions because if they try to brave them
their flames will surely go out.
Then there will be nothing left
except a small stream of smoke as if the candle is fighting to hang on.
But that, too, will eventually fade away.

Empty Prayers

Empty prayers
laced with doubt
grasp my soul and hold me back.

A misty hand
reaches out.
I fear that I cannot reach now.

Trust is difficult to give but
 I can hope.
Oh, can I not hope

That someone’s there to
hear the prayers
laced with doubt and spilling out?

Why can’t I know
I’m not alone
crying for somewhere to go?

Inside my mind
it’s all numb
but if I’m wrong, I might feel some.

Some of what I locked inside
lost the key
and tried to hide.

I would stop
if not for
the calm I feel from hoping.

Yes, I would stop
if not for
the fear that something’s coming.

Am I a fool?
Are They real?
These empty prayers will never tell.

What is the harm
in wanting
just one little thing to hold?

Can I have just a little thing
that will not
leave me feeling cold?

Mixed messages
surround me.
I don’t know where to turn.

“Your empty prayers
can’t save you.

Oh, will you ever learn?”

“Your prayers will clear your troubled mind.
He’ll help you
and what you need, you’ll find.”

As I think, I understand
I’m so scared
of what might not be.

But, in my heart, I always knew
what it was
that I should do.

With empty prayers I make a stand.
Clasped in my hand
I hold His plan.

At least for now, I will not waver
at the feet
of Him I trust.

For no harm can be done in

not knowing

where empty prayers fall.

Kid, Goodbye, and Breaking Free

KID

What did I hear?
My mind,
My eyes,
Betray me.
I can’t recall the importance of what I saw
I can’t remember what I heard
Screaming
Screaming
“Help me!”

GOODBYE

I’m  reaching too slow
I’m draining too fast
I don’t love you anymore
Because I’ve grown up too fast
and you keep up too slow.

BREAKING FREE

No, Convict Among Society,
you mistake your bondage for others
while you await a savior that,
I can see, will never come.

Leaves

When a leaf falls do the other leaves notice?
Gravity takes hold and its ties to the tree break.
So it floats on the breath of the earth
and rests on its bosom never to return.
It gradually becomes brown
and as crisp as the breeze that knocked it down.
Meanwhile the other leaves continue to be nourished,
fed by the sun and their strong bonds to the tree.
When a leaf falls will the tree notice?
Thousands of green fingers stroke the sky.
One will not matter.
But nature comes closer every day
to stretching the trees limits.
Eventually, she will wrap her tendrils
along the earth and the battle commences
between the tree and the freeze.
Once the last leaf has fallen
the tree finally sees
the first leaf mattered.

Will I Ever?

I have never kissed a boy
but I have accidentally kissed a girl.
She was my partner, a famous mud pie baker
though we never tested our pastries.
I’ve never cheated on anyone,
but I’ve cheated on tests.
Still, I’ve never gotten straight A’s,
and I’ve yet to yell at anyone who claims I have.
I’ve never shaved my head
or gotten a speeding ticket
and I’ve never gotten anything stuck in my nose.

I have never tried parkour
or been on the news.
I’ve never written a song
or gone on a cruise with my family.
They always left me behind.
Thank goodness I’ve never been hospitalized for stupidity
but I’ve been there for other things.

I’ve never had a girlfriend so I can’t cut my ear off and mail it to her.
I’ve never had much authority so I’ve never declared a war.
Never have I caused a genocide
or eaten cyanide
or taken part in a lynching mob.
I’ve never starved a nation,
changed the world,
or given the order to drop the atomic bomb.

I never liked alcohol
it tastes the way urine smells
and I will never figure out why people drink it.
I’ve never licked a door knob
(but I’ve thought about it.)
I’ve never put an ice cream cone in my back pocket
or walked the streets with a violin in a paper lunch bag.
I've never done graffiti
and I’ve never done drugs –the recreational kind.

I’ve never hit a pedestrian with my car
or jumped in front of a car while walking down the street.
I’ve never forgiven myself since my dog died
even though he was old and it wasn’t my fault at all.
I’ve never spoken my mind to someone –not really.
If they knew what I really wanted to say, no one would ever be friends with me.
I’ve never written a suicide note, or learned to tie a noose…
and I haven’t really had to.
I didn’t cry at work
when the bosses told us to speed up, and I did
then I went to fast and broke the roller coaster and got yelled at.
I did cry when I got home, though.
I’ve never told my neighbor’s fiancé that I hate him
and that she deserves someone better.
But I can’t now, they moved to Hawaii to get married.
Though it crosses my mind all the time,
I’ve never just waked away from a boring conversation without a word.
I’ve never told my dad I hate him
because that’s not all the way true
even though I wish it was.
I’ve never jumped off a bridge
or used one of their hotlines.
I’ve never really wanted to change my past.
It’s a part of me
but I wonder;
will I ever get to make amends
for the things I wish I never said?

Where She Sat

I was twelve years old when I saw my mother cry for the first time.  I will only see her cry one other time, five years later, when she and her boss have a falling out at the job she devoted 6 years to, even though it didn't pay as much as the same job would somewhere else.  She came home sobbing that day.  She really loved that job. This time, she sits alone outside to keep others, especially her children, 15 and 12, from seeing her close-kept tears.  I knew she was out there only because the back door squeaked whenever it was opened and the blinds that draped over its window would clamor in protest of any secrecy. The impish back door was our only way outside unless we wanted to intrude on my grandparents living upstairs.  It was early springtime.  Mom took her cold cereal outside in hopes of the sun drying her face. I like to think that the last bits of snow from the melancholy wintertime jumped to her eyelashes as a desperate attack on the coming spring.  I know that’s not true, though.  The gleam on my mother’s face was not from melting snow falling from her eyelashes. For I could see it was raining where she sat.

Demons

I carry my demon on my back.  When I’m at school he sits nestled in my schoolbag between the black notebook and my folder with the lizard on it.  I don’t like retrieving anything from that side of the backpack.  He nips my hand every time I reach inside… just to remind me he’s still there.  

Christmas Eve

When I was little, all I wanted to be was bigger.  So I asked my dad to help me.  He would always lift me high above his head and rest me on his massive shoulders.  My sister and I used to both fit, one on each side, but she got bigger than me and we had to part.  The shoulders were all mine.  Eventually, I, too, got too big just to fit on one shoulder so I would sling one of my tiny legs over his head to the other side.  It was quite the accomplishment if I could manage to get that leg to my dad’s other shoulder without his help.  My muscles strained to lift it high enough but once I got there, I would wrap my hands around his forehead and clasp them tight, right on his thick eyebrows. Then, I could rest my chin on top of his head and enjoy the smell of his shampoo with half of my face buried in coarse, black hair.  When he was tired of being my stallion, my dad would walk to a soft place, a couch or a bed, and plop me down. I remember the anticipation I felt when I noted his path to the furniture. I knew what came next- tickles. Dad never grew his beard out too long and he could never completely shave the thick hairs for a smooth face.  I liked that. When I lay dazed on the couch he would grab my feet and rub his scruffy chin on them.  He made a great tickle monster. Only the best could entice the shrill squeals and innocent laughter that ensued.  Only he.

Who knew the same man could turn the special savory taste of Herbed Peasant Bread, left over in my mouth from Christmas Eve dinner, sour. Instead of being tossed on the bed with giggles and smiles I decide to lie underneath it, my quivering lip fighting back wretched sobs in vain.  Finally, I have stopped trying to fit on his shoulders.

Reality

One winter-spring morning as I walked along
this calm moonlit path of which I have trod
many, many times, my heart void of song,
praying, pondering, how life is a fraud.

Saddened images seep into my mind.
To trust is to hate, to trust is to hurt
for when we speak we string together lies
to force everyone else into the dirt.

Breaking my silence, riots snap the locks.
Throw me, cruel world, from my crumbling throne.
When I should have made a fort of boxes,
I, instead, made a fort of stone.

So starting now through immortality
I will not accept your reality.