and then those days roll in like Summer storms. 

thunder so loud, 

yet welcome distraction from the silence of all alone.

and rain –

heavy as black in a midnight sky.

it seems,

in those moments of oppression, 

there is no hope.

what purpose faith in a faceless god?

surely there is no recompense earned merely from ritual of believe.

peace –

you proclaim.

comfort from the pain. 

but somehow – 

when –

remains unknown.

and as you kneel to offer prayer for salvation, 

voices whisper eulogies to care. 

in those days, 

when life becomes just too much to bear,

you realize how it feels –

becoming undone. 

what then? 

if compassion serves purpose – 

glue to mend the broken – 

and the cupboard bare, 

do the pieces of promise just get swept away? 

sometimes, 

no matter our intention,

we end up unassigned –

unnecessary as the refuse of was,

thrown with deliberation,

into  the insignificance of – not...

long day.
short night.
and the rotation goes on and on and…

(so profound,
don’t you think –
the way your silence screams; indisposed!)

…just like wheels on highways –
unconcerned with where –
just content to roll.

(oh to hear even the echo of consent –
returning – loud –
from whispers of supposed –
consideration.)

obstinate,
don’t you think,
for you to stand outside the door to this dark room,
toss randomly –
like wooden matches flicked –
your insinuations?
ludicrous,
to presume yourself companion to my indifference.
you do not bare the scars of my assumed indiscretion.
and nowhere in the book of you
is there evidence to support incidence of (misconstrued) self-deprecation.
if not for lack of care,

i would invest more time into a study of your contradiction.
but knowing at the end of the day,
the conviction you suggest is nothing more than a mask your insensitivity holds residence behind.
careless of you –
to suppose.
when invitation was given without obligation
to sit in audience to know…

we stand in our self-imposed confines of can’t.

hiding behind unable.

comfortable in the shadows of selfish inability.

and as we barricade ourselves behind facades of doesn’t matter,

we find freedom from the threat of uncomfortable accommodation.

what exactly is the point of feigned commiseration?

even with countenance of implied benevolence,

we cannot hide the audacity of insincere.

had Adam known before that fateful bite just how bitter…

suppositions.

clouds we cannot touch –

yet stumble as we lose our way in the discord of their darkness.

today i placed you
in my box of death –
closed the lid –
allowed your darkness,
absence – from my light…

bundled up,
with ribbons of regret,
i laid your sorrow by the door –
safe outside the fortress of my heart.

silent –
contained inside my chamber of refrain –
i watched the raindrops attach themselves to windows – closed,
clinging with cold deliberation to the glass…

today i placed your memory
where the shadows grow –
waited without sound –
allowed the silence audience in the arena of despair.

today –
i lingered for a moment more
upon the shore of your demise.
said my farewells –
loosened chains of regret,
and in that instant of your escape,
this captive heart,
realized,
for the first time,
how it felt to be finally set free…

day to night –

then back again.

never ending cycle of same.

tonight with curtains closed –

lights out –

doors locked,

i pause to reconcile the balance of my day.

for every thought of discontent,

did i aspire to overcome the hurdle?

can i –

with any perception of conviction –

close my eyes,

sleep dreamless –

content?

and what of morning?

if so inclined to wake –

will just another exercise in tolerance my day become?

perhaps tonight my prayer should be for recompense,

rather than reconciliation.

far better the outcome of endless peace,

than temporary commiseration…

in your house of glass,

does it really matter,

the temperament of your intention?

the ambition of your consideration?

surely you understand closing your eyes does not absolution bring.

merely disregarding conflict –

deters nothing more than ownership of conviction.

at the end of the day –

when it seems the battle won –

that same still small voice will remain.

regardless curtains of indifference –

there will always be light shining from someone Else’s window.

and you there –

hiding –

so you presume –

in shadows that merely create contrast between the light of wrong,

and the darkness you choose to cover up the right.

i read –

and was forever changed.

isn’t that the beauty of this experience called life?

the ownership of interpretation.

to understand that which moves me,

may cause no similar response in you.

each time i enter this room of share,

i say a prayer before touching the keys.

to imply the words are mine would be considered the most elevated evidence of tyranny.

most often,

i rather hold close the thoughts –

contain them within the rooms of my displeasure.

however, the holder of the latch will not comply –

and all at once –

escape…

and so it goes.

these words i borrow;

thoughts entertained on visits from countries i have yet to travel –

journeys un-begun.

tonight i stand upon the balcony of suppose –

gaze longingly upon the setting sun –

surrender without reluctance my care.

what if i wake tomorrow?

what matter will it make –

these thoughts?

perhaps upon passing,

you will linger.

just long enough to take breath.

and as quickly as your exhale,

the moment gone.

apropos of disengage,

your read,

will fall along the side –

random highway –

unnamed –

so all-too-soon,

forgotten…