Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Sixteen, Poem Number Sixteen: “Twins”

You’re a wet cigarette
gone limp in the rain.
I’m a dud pack of matches
devoid of all flame.

You and I shall inherit this planet
since we are scared and meek.
When the strong kill each other with hatchets
we’ll hide in our holes for a week.

We’ll meet on the ground above,
as the last people left on the earth.
It’ll be impossible for us to fall in love
because we’re both afraid of getting hurt.

This is how the world ends
with two lonely people
who cannot be friends
or shelve their damaged egos.

The species will die off with a whimper and a sigh,
and I’ll stroke your hair, begging you not to cry.
I’m sorry I said those things about your weight
I was just upset you ate the last of the cornflakes.

You’re a wet cigarette
Gone limp in the rain
I’m a dud pack of matches
Devoid of all flame.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Fifteen, Poem Number Fifteen: “Remember When”

Remember when your confidence was low
and your boss tore you down
and I built you back up
and encouraged you to fight back?
No?

Remember when your friends deserted you
and the best one of all made you feel like dirt
and I held your hand throughout
and pressed you to be the bigger person?
No?

Remember when your parents shunned you
and ignored you after they kicked you out,
how I loved and nurtured you
and welcomed you into my own family because you were?
No?

Remember that one time when I hurt you
because I’m weak and selfish and full of doubt
and I couldn’t control myself although I knew better
and it was the worst goddamn mistake of my life?
Yes.

Of course you do.
And you’ll never forget it.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Fourteen, Poem Number Fourteen: “This Moment”

I’m only here for this moment.
Soon
others
will be clamoring for your attention.
But I can’t let myself wander
into future scenarios where I am excluded
and my existence isn’t considered.
I have you all to myself for this space of time
which could be measured by the numbers on your clock,
but for what purpose?
Later, in my dulled, damaged memories,
hours and minutes won’t matter.
Only the photo strip of still lives will remain and affect me.
I have you all to myself for this space of time
because I am all you have directly in front of you.
It is my good fortune
that you have switched to tunnel vision and
mine are the only approaching headlights you’re focused on.
I drive at a mild pace;
eager to reach you,
my destination,
but fully aware
of the danger
of rushing through an experience that
will in end in the ironic,
illuminating rays
of the rising sun.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Thirteen, Poem Number Thirteen: “Drowning”

Love is for the young
or the young of mind.
It is foolish, reckless,
it is responsible
for more than one crime.

As a young man, I dove in
to several pools’ deep ends.
The waters were warm,
Clear, and embracing.
I surfaced every time free of the bends.

Years expanded the blue.
I swam the deltas and rivers
that invaded my closed places.
Until I arrived to endless seas whose
cold depth made my heart shiver.

Sometimes I still jump without looking,
but the ocean beds are dusty and dry.
If there are always other fish in the sea,
then they’ve grown wings to fly.
All that’s left are brittle bones
that creak, groan and sigh.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Twelve, Poem Number Twelve: “Chameleon”

I’m not a great writer or a celebrated poet.
My truest title is chameleon and don’t I know it.
I mime and mimic the best from literature’s past,
restricted to the verbal fodder I’ve amassed.

My muted colors change more than
the foreign key rings on my night stand.
I imitate with the sincerest of flattery
because I am a flirt wooing all of history.

Genre, style, theme or form,
my pretty words are used to adorn
the lacquered, wooden frames that contain
original works of art, free of mental strain.

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