I am sad
For I have not closed my door,
I have left it open to the world
That climbs and claws
To its desired height.
And my skin has begun to bleed
Where once it was supple
In rash and scale,
Blueberry wine.
I am sad
And my glasses haven’t fit
Since I sat boldly
At the ocean’s edge
Wishing I didn’t feel this pain
And could not see
Ocean’s spray.
Tag: sad
It’s Not A Job (day 3015)
I’ve been sad lately,
Sad or introspective
It’s sometimes hard to tell
What the difference is,
Isn’t it?
Trying to decide what is better:
Sunset or sunrise.
You know me,
I’ve always been a sunset
Kind of person.
It’s like I’m seeing the end
And not wanting it to end,
Or perhaps it’s
The overwhelming work
Still to be done here.
And yet my hands do not tire
Finding tasks
That take less mental strength
And more physical exertion.
These are nice tasks
That leave me sweating
And feeling like I’ve done
A job that needs to be done.
She’s Death (day 2529)
She’s got magic in her hands
And death between her lips
She sings every night a song
That makes me miss my ship
I don’t think I’ll ever send away
The blanket I had specially made
For every day as I sit here
I wish I’d found another lover
Who’d play to me sad sad songs
I could write down to remember
And out I’d go, apart from death
Reaching madly for sunlight.
The Wedding (day 2156)
I want to have a terribly sad wedding
The saddest wedding of all
Where all the guests dress in black
And music will be sombre
Leading many attendees to tears.
I want the food to evoke heartbreak
And the clouds to be forever ominous
Dead midwinter grays will be everywhere
The roses will be dried
And their stems quick to draw blood
With fires burning and candlesticks
That attracts gazes of lost reverie.
I will have guests
Sign their names in blood
And a butler will be there to request it
With orders not to ever smile.
Each place will be set
With Gothic cutlery
And matching black napkins
Folded in a melancholy way.
I want an organ to hold a single chord
For the entire evening
An omnipresent chord
That each song will be tuned to
Maybe a D melodic minor
Or a F flat diminished 7th.
And on my wedding day just so
There will only be one person
Standing at the alter
It will be the pastor
Of an unimaginably vague faith
Whom nobody will know
And nobody will greet
And nobody will listen to his words
For they will blend right in
With the grumbling organ
In the key of terribly sad.
I will watch the whole preceding
Not greeting a single guest
Feom my perch high up
A balcony through my vaulted windows
Of my cold stone house
And there I will sit
Surrounded by ghosts
That I forgot to invite
To my terribly sad wedding
And sitting close by
Without a smile on her face
Will be love for the rest of my life.
Just A Little (day 2073)
It’s days like these
Rolled over, stuffed in
Left sleeping
With tired eyes
Lost on a distant horizon
A breath, heavy
Somewhere between asthma
And an eagle’s scream
Washed in the lapping ocean
And swept away
By the wind
Leaving heavy drops
Crawling down my cheek
And humming a slow song
That’re maybe
Just a little sad.
Moon at Midnight – Part XXXXXX (day 2034)
When Willow came back into the teepee
I knew instantly something was wrong
Actually, I think I knew before she came back in
But when she did
Just one look at her and I could tell that
Something horrible had just happened
Then I saw the blood
And she was incredibly pale
She fell into my arms
And I comforted her as we sat on the floor
She lightly sobbed in my shoulder.
I sent Lily over to get Mercy
When Mercy came in and saw Willow
She knew what had happened immediately
And began to comfort her
Mercy went and looked
To see what had come out
So we knew there was no immediate danger
But the bleeding still had to stop
And that was a worry.
By the next day,
Willow had stopped bleeding
And the colour was returning to her face
Though she was still sad and distant
We both were
I sat and lay with her a lot in those days
As she rested
And noticed her looking nowhere often
Something I had never seen her do before
She usually just stared at me
I think she didn’t understand my hair colour.
It was nice to have Lily around
To comfort her mother, too
She was a great little mother for us
I knew Willow had really wanted the baby
To prove more to her family
Then to me
That she wasn’t less then nothing
Since her first man had passed,
Something of pride,
But I also knew that Willow had so much to be proud of
One perfect example was Lily
Who silently provided for us
As we all comforted each other.
After five days of bed rest
I must have changed the rocks in her bed
Ten times a day
She enjoyed it, so I was happy
And she was looking much better
As was the cough nearly gone
I was happy to see
She meant the world to me
And we gave the little moccasins away
To Runs Wild’s wife
Who was now expecting a baby as well
They were both very happy to have them
And they were also very happy to see
Willow walking around and looking better.
Windfalls (day 1798)
Windfalls and short tails
My harmony is free
In tales and gone times
Memory always gets me
But pain leaves sad marks
On windowsills of time
And everyone I see
Leaves indifference; all the same.
A Chance to Be Faculty and Chief (day 1119)
A valley, like my mind, may look empty on the inside – void of all that makes up matter. Void of all the mass that builds houses and factories and city roads and flower gardens and traffic jams.
For cannot this still matter? I am lost in a wasted land, and the fight challenges my patience along grated edges of wisdom.
Do you hear the sharp bells ringing? Is this the difference that is ringing, or has freedom finally called my name?
The sheath shall sadly fall apart, ragged from too much use like a cocktail napkin at a lipstick party. History shall not scream loudly here. This is not the bitter pages of a non-fiction picture book.
Here we have wrinkled tin garbage cans rolling lifelessly along unkempt lawns of former princes’, former glory holes that believed in a dream. A lifeless dream built on waste management systems and recycling plans.
So I cannot spoil my food anymore. My valley – running deep – is the chance to be faculty and chief. My valley is the early morning breath and the dying chances. My valley is the shortened season and the wilderness.
My valley is me, and I’ve begun to see.
Dreaming of Singing (day 1100)
A range of extremes rushing through my heart
Billows and swells my emotions alive.
So I, all exposure; wind at my neck,
Look to the distance with dreamy eyes sans regret.
Moments that crawl deep in mud
Shaking mystery free from it’s longing and clutching grasp.
A sad song sung alone, echoing off towering cliffs.
A sweet song sung on a bellowing clarinet.
Could you lie to me just a little bit longer?
Rush to my head on a caffeinated high.
Your sprouts in my garden are light in my eyes,
And singing alone’s become quite obscene.
Much Brighter (day 1018)
The little lover knew no other
But all she had was fits and slobber
The man she loved was much too clever
To hold onto a dying ember
To which begins the sad sad tale
Of the little lover and her
Quest of building ever stronger
Which she blossomed into a Queen
Who loved to laugh and delight in grandeur
And in the end she was much brighter
For being the girl of fits and slobber