Letters to Dandelion (13 page)

touch and her promises,

Then I saw the storm in

the inevitable end.

How some trips are

better off not taken.

Where the end is revealed

in a parallel not seen, and

a pain to the chest

 of the broken.

I watched her walk away,

in the dark, like a struck

match with fire of her

hair.

Spewing lies about my

 intentions and after

insulting my whole persona.

I struck back, but I shouldn’t

have.  The writer in me with

the sharpen words is always

too eager to hurt and then

the soft words are ignored.

Nothing will fix or save this,

I guess.

Nothing can clean this mess,

of this beautiful woman, who

came and went, like a shadow.

I’m just typing, and realizing,

my loss, but I knew I was in

the wrong basket anyway.

It may sound confusing, because

I am confused, but no one cares

about my thoughts.

I just wish she knew, that I didn’t

start that night off, to end it

that way.

I just wish she knew, how beautiful

she is, and how much I wanted

to reveal the good sides of who I

am.

Anything good is wrapped in tough

protective covering, and that cover

gets dirty, torn, beaten, but it

protects the good, until it is opened.

I can’t type a ladder of words back

to that night, or that moment, or

back to her arms.

My powers are limited only to the

next day, and in clarity to say,

I’m sorry, but sorry is a lonely

word.

Her heart was turned off from me

long ago I feel.

I wanted just to either rediscover,

of end things civil.

I don’t think you will read this.

But, Karma knows … I tried.

The Whites of Her
Eyes …

I’m not going to look, or seek, or search.

The doors to my heart will eventually close.

The energy of my desire will turn –

as will my focus sharpen towards inner goals.

As someone told me –

“Let the bird land upon your finger.”

Others have said –

“Things happen when you least expect.”

I’ve even written about chasing a bubble,

and have told God himself,

He can not condemn me for something
he is not willing to help me with.

I was born with an uncanny birth defect –

That I have no beating heart at all.

Why?

Oh, how sad !

And all types of simpatico bullshit you

might say –

But, if you didn’t know me,

you might call me an insensitive monster,

or cursed, or worse.

But, it’s better you don’t know me.

There’s less for you to judge.

And, even less for me to say.

Practically nothing for me to care about,

based upon your reaction.
No opinion which to sway.

I may be missing something,

I disagree.

So many swear they are happy –

But, I challenge that equation based on reality.

It’s a bold, cold statement, this is true, but feelings

in medical terms are an equation to an apparition.

I previously mentioned, the Hole in my Pocket

before I even had jeans.

What an invention, as it has
allowed me to lose a lot of
baggage, and only hold on
to what I need.

So, I live by the basics, and
what can fill my cupped hands.

I like it planned.

Though some laugh, and joke

and don’t agree, the last laugh

is eventually with me.

Now things are streamlined,

and I’m doing well.

My toughest decision is:

what to have for dinner,

or what to wear on any

given someday.

I’ve danced my way, out of Hell.

And I answer to no one.

So why fuck that up?

Anymore, I won’t fire my

love and desire, until I

can completely agree –

That I am as close as a

dangling eyelash, glued

to:

The whites of her eyes.

Big Fat Lie

A tall, beautiful Woman, told me,

that the way a man thinks to screw

me, is to demean me, and be mean

to me - - to obtain me.

And I told her, that that was a
Big Fat Lie
.

From the pit of Hell.
From the mouth of the Devil himself.

But, why do so many Women believe,

the childish actions and silly prattle of

little boys at play?

I do apologize is my standing, and I

know, in some cases, it would seem

boring for a Man to always be pining

for a beautiful Woman to be his own.

See, I have written pounds of words on

this subject, and here’s another attempt

to eventually get it right.

Women are the flowers of the Earth.

The living art that inspires art.

The motivation behind, many, if not

everything.

Man, is a by product of the World.

His arms are forged of wood,
his mind a vortex of ocean current, and

fire, with a desire to match, -- yet,
yielding moments of soft falling snow,
for someone he loves.

Men are a mix of what is necessary to

run, walk, pause, stop, sprint, and leap,

fight, retreat, and come back against

to brave the rigors of the world that

birthed him.

The world breeds warriors, and nothing else.

Women are the piece of him, which is missing.

And that he misses.

And no matter where he is, as she appears,

he’ll stop everything to obtain her.

Women are the beauty, he’ll  - NEVER BE.

The softness he can not make in a lab,

or the shape he can not hammer out in steal.

She is the thoughts he can not conjure,

or the desire he can’t control.

She is the reason he will march to his death,

he will dive deep in debt,

he will rise from the ashes like a Phoenix,

he will cry for in the night like a baby,

he will conquer, kill and scheme and plan,

until he can be assured, that he is her man.

So, Women, please, don’t believe the big fat lie.

Any boy, who treats you bad, there is a little monkey

small and sad, inside his pants, trying and dying to be
 your Gorilla.

Again, I feel I am falling short on this subject.

So, as long as I live, and as long as there is

a beautiful Woman who might lend her ear?

then let her hear –

No matter what has happened,

no matter who has hurt you?

no matter what you have lost,

no matter what has been said to you,

no matter what has been physically done to you,

no matter what you have lost,

no matter what you have done,

no matter what you will do,

no matter what pain you’ve endured,

no matter how bad you feel,

YOU are a Woman. 

YOU are the portal to another soul and

no Man can do that.

You are a Mother, your children feed off of your

essence and they will become a version of you.

You are the original beauty, as everything in this
world was created by some Man, who was in love,

and wanted to provide a better life for his Woman.

You are all the things we want, and can’t create.

And, there is still some one walking on the face

of the planet, who will crush his own guts to be

with you.

You are everything this writer wants and sometimes

can’t have.

And if you ever think that no one loves you,
or

no one wants you.

Call me.

STORY

        Evening shade has dawned over the
earth. Yet one

such soul has not noticed. Weary in his
travels, sore in his

muscles, cloudy in his mind, but full of
one objective in

his heart. He presses on.

        He has walked many miles to stand
on the edge of

realizing his goals, and yet the struggle
seemed short. But

in his mind he had already agreed at no
cost would he lose

his true love; for every step he took
brought him closer and

ever closer. The hunger of his passion
fueling his body at

times where there was little or no effort
left to point the

direction.

        Sometimes a fond memory became his
only friend in

times of need, or a recollection of a sworn
promise that to

him, steel, would shatter easier than mere
spoken words.

        With this in our traveler’s mind,
he laughs about the

past, engages the present, and boldly
chases his future.

And then, one day ….

A plain little bird, with a bright yellow bill,

sang a charming mellow tune from atop my window sill.

Within my surroundings, the music seemed to fill,

as I woke to the sound,

and noticed my world around.

The walls which were always, a touch-tinge of grey,

appeared much lighter and luminescently brighter,

this mystical magical day.

The clouds that normally loomed, above my ickety-rickety
bed,

faded to obscurity from the song flowing inside my head.

My eyes what tend to stick closed on most dreary days?

Could not appear wider, when taking in the sun’s rays.

The bird chirped and peeped; hopped about on its tiny feet.

Circled and looked about – then all things, repeat.

I moved closer, as not to startle, but to simply observe,

My new found friend, this interesting bird who of my respect

is well deserved.

This harbinger of song, this bringer of happiness and peace

of which her influence, I hoped would not cease.

Of course it was new,

Of course it was different,

Of course I want this to last,

Who wouldn’t?

She was strange at first,

She was definitely different.
I became so attached to her beauty and magnificence.

It was just at that moment, when I had thought this all
through,

I stretched out my hand, in total hopes of holding you.

And then, she flew – long and far away.

Never to ever see her again, even to this day.

Returning me to an even darker world than previously before.
And nothing has been the same ever since.

When I sleep, I
dream …

And she’s always there.

Perfect little Blonde, with

pink streaks in her hair.

But, the perfection of what

I speak , is of how we’ve seemed

to grow.

To where she loves me too,

And we’re all to the other that

we know.

Yea, she spunky, and she’s funny,

and she’s two bottles of Alleve a night

for all the headaches and trouble.

She’s so sexy, and perplexing, and

keeps me on my toes.

She reaches for me, she kisses me,

She hugs me oh so closely.

She loves me – She’s not afraid,

not under pressure or under

any spell.

She walks with me, holds my hand,

kisses me with her beautiful lips.

She allows me to love her, and

when we’re together, the world

comes to a complete stop.

We have agreement,

We have trust,

We play, we reach for the

other.

We curl up together –

We peacably sleep –

And have fun when we eat,

because she’s my other, better

half who I can’t live without.

She mirrors who I am.

She believes in our abilities.

And we go forward and grow,

because to each other, we’re

all that we know.

But when I wake up –

She’s gone.

And I have to face the day alone.

Reality becomes one, as I realize

I’m alone, and the only thing that

loved me the night before,

were the wrinkles in the sheets.

SAYONARA SONNET

Adieu,

To you.