Tired

"How are you," she asked.

And the only thing I could think to say, the only thing that came to mind

... was that I am tired.


I am so tired.

I am tired of people asking me how I am
and never really wanting to know the answer,
the truth that hides behind every "fine" or "OK".

The simple truth that I am, really, tired.

Really, really tired.

I am tired of smiling through a day that is just another collection of pain.

I am tired of keeping to the bright side of the street.

I am tired of being strong, of being brave, of pretending again
that I am not just weeping while standing here pretending life is sweet.

I am tired.  So very, voluminously, vociferously, volcanically tired.

And the worst thing about being so tired is that I cannot sleep.
For if I close my eyes, if I try to get some rest,
if I slip into slumber and start to dream, a dream so deep,
I may miss a chance, The Chance that might be my best -

... to get what I need so that I can stop being tired.

And mostly I'm tired, so tired of ... of being me.

I am so tired I do not even know who I would be if I should stop being tired.

Everything about me is so warped, so wrecked, so wrong from being so tired for so long.

Would I even know me should I stop being tired?



"How are you," she said.

And I said I was fine.
I lied, because lying to people that don't want to hear the truth is easier.

It saves the explanations.

It stoppers the uncomfortable silences,
the pretending, the pitying, the posturing that people perform
when they really don't want to know.

I am so tired that I'll say what they expect to hear
instead of what I really should say, the real way
that I am.  How I really am. These conventions that we hold dear,
all the inane, insane, insincere, infantile intimations we say...

… really don’t mean a thing.  Nothing.

They are empty words -
OK.
Fine.

And I am still tired.

I’d curl up and lay my head down
and try to shut my eyes.
But I am so tired
I can't even find the ground when I fall down.

The Best of Me

I know I'm not the man I used to be,
but I think what's left is the best of me.
What you see here, standing right before you,
has been tested and tempered and found true.

Gone, the illusions of a wasted youth
replaced by an understanding that truth
is a malleable and living thing
that changes with every catch that chance brings.

I no longer tilt at every windmill
or try to cure the world of every ill.
Now I chose each battle and when I'll fight
for all those things my heart tells me are right.

No longer am I a wandering boy
turning over stones to try and find joy.
Now instead I am a confident man,
making his world the very best he can.

The Name of Eve

I find it very hard to believe
that all this sin is the fault of Eve.
Plagues and pestilence and death and war -
should these really be laid at her door?


So when we lie and cheat and decieve
why is Eve the one that should recieve
the scorn and hate and all of the blame
for what is really our deepest shame?


Isn't it time that we moved beyond
all the hate that this fable has spawned?
Shouldn't we make an effort to relieve
the stain we've placed on the name of Eve?

The Moments

The moments between the minutes are the hardest.

Those silences between the seconds where the clock doesn't tick,

those are the times when doubt whispers to me.

Those thoughts that thwart my serenity

inhabit the instants between supposing and surety

that fill every random corner of my brain.

Doubt is always standing right behind me,

mumbling maledictions, murmurring madness that

serve to disquiet any moment of delight 

I might try to take from this life.

The Cherry Blossoms

In the back yard there's an old cherry tree.
Its trunk is cracked and some branches withered
and when you look it is easy to see
every storm and winter it has weathered.

In years gone by it would fill with flowers,
bright white blossoms that weighed its branches down.
When the blooms fell from those leafy towers
they'd cover the ground like some young bride's gown.

But now the tree fights to wake from the cold,
each bud that blooms taking longer to grow.
Every spring not as fruitful or as bold
but still the tree tries to put on its show.

There's an old cherry tree in our back yard
that flowers even when its life is hard.

That Which You Seek

No night has ever been so long
it was not followed by a dawn.
Never was darkness so complete
that the sun did not force retreat.

No winter ever dared to stay
to see the flowers bloom in May.
No flood has ever had the cheek
to wash the highest mountain's peak.

So whatever now may be wrong
accept it will not be for long.
What now tastes bitter will be sweet
and what's undone will be complete.

Even the lost can find their way
and find the path to end the day.
Do not let your resolve be weak!
and you will find that which you seek.

A Spring Haiku

The cherry blossoms
as they fly through the warm air
are snowflakes for Spring

Life Among the Ruins

Is there any life among the ruins
green shoots amid the clutter and decay?
Is there anything now remaining in
the verdant fields where I used to play?

I remember when the sun shone so bright
on every warm and wondrous summer day.
Now there's not a single sunbeam in sight
just a rubbed out sky filled with clouds of gray.

The front porch where I'd sit and play my games
is littered with leaves like some lost bouquet.
The doors hang crookedly on twisted frames,
the wind shakes the walls as they twist and sway.

And who'd want to rebuild this wasted wreck?
Who would pick up the stones from where they lay?
Who could find any hope, even just a speck,
among the ruins, clutter and decay?

The Rewards of Age

In life it is inevitable
that we grow from child to wizened sage
and while youth may be enviable
the best things are those that show their age.

Worn shoes are the most comfortable.
The best wines are of a certain age.
Our old friends are the most affable
and good books improve with every page.

So enjoy your youth while you're able
and as you get older do not rage.
While the years are unavoidable
you're only old if you act your age.

Cinderella

Cinderella, don't you run by so fast-
there are so many things that you will miss!
Grab hold of these moments and make them last,
slow down, don't run, and take in all of this.
I know that you have to be on your way
the magic is gone and the clock has rung.
All the stories I told to end your day
are now put away and that book is done.
But look around before you leave this dance
at all the wonder that's been given you 
for you will never get another chance
to be this young and see the world so new.
What you have run past, what you leave behind
your youth, your dreams, will be so hard to find.

The Birds in Winter

The birds in winter
as they fly and softly sing
    (over the snow)
remind me of spring.

The Old Coat

I still have the coat that you gave me
years ago, when we were very young
and everything we were going to be
was something that had yet to be done.


It's a bit worn, the fashion is old
but I wear it when a hard wind blows.
It keeps me warm when winter is cold
but that's why you gave it, I suppose.


I've other coats, some plain, some fancy
and this old coat's had a good long run.
But none seem to fit me as easy
so I just keep on wearing this one.


I'll wear it until my story's told
and when I've gone on to my repose
then it will be put away or sold
just another part of my old clothes.