to live

it is enough, so they say.
you exist, you walk about just like anyone else.
to be, plainly, is to draw another breath.
i mean to say, it is enough to believe in something beyond simple existence.

children, in various places of youth and adorability, are all about.
perhaps you remember yourself in passing; sometimes they are a petty annoyance.
oh, the freshness of an unsoiled mind, its prismatic glimpses into the adult world so refreshingly naive as to lure us all in.
we are, all of us, in that long-passing time of decades of age.

my parents have grown accustomed to one another's voices.
they have to repeat most everything, even if they are in the same room.
voices, like a singular presence within your home, become comfortable reassurances.
there is despondence within this, and thus i have striven to be as fresh as a new day.
everytime is like the first time for me.

there are tears for what has passed.
there is also transcedence to what may be here, and in the future.
i feel first- impulsively grasping to be, to live, to be more than average.
idealism makes a vibrant spirit: all at once the best is hoped for, but melancholy are the days of knowing reality's reign.
bargaining is for the desperate.
i'd rather have the strength to turn the page, or even begin a new chapter.

a coutenance: the afterglow rises in peach cheeks.
a smile is spread upon the mouth for reasons few are privy.
someone pressed four dimples there.

to live, to be- it is enough for a second.
to believe in hope and allow it to hook your heart for this existence is a way to soar above menial mediocrity.
then the minutae, other peoples failures redoubled by your own, and whatever reason death tasted better are no longer concerns.
then who can hold fast your ankles and beg you to stay?
only a child.

have to move

i don't know
i don't know
i don't remember what i was like
when i didn't love you.
i'm without you,
it's what i do-
exist independently
and resent how independent
i am.
you're away and i wonder
do you still think
about me everyday?
i cannot speak to you
i started to send messages
but it's falling through
the floor i'm standing on
it's caving, darlin, and i
have to move.
but i don't know
i don't know
i don't remember who i was
before i met you.

two sunrises, and one sunset

a sunrise of mist,
standing like cool spider webs,
while the washed out sky
burns pink and piercing new light.
later, a sunset of warmth,
as the day burns out.
the landscape has bleakened,
its trees barren and the hills
have gone to yellow grass.
the sun is an egg, sunnyside up
and running through the whites
of clouds in its recession to the west.
gradually, a gray sunrise,
teasing the uncommonly warm air,
and bringing with it a blushing horizon.
squirrels bound from tree limbs
as the light archs through the forest cathedral,
and morning papers curl in the dew.
within the brevity of a weekend
there is life enough to fill a page.

*of a recent trip to high point/greensboro/winston-salem

they tell me

they tell me
not to grieve you.
they tell me
you aren't worth anything.
i've tried;
i've tried;
i've cried.
you were always on my mind
with everyone after you.
you were always on my mind
in every distracting thing i could do.
they tell me
but i cannot bend an ear,
save for the revelry in good cheer.