Grief

The mirror traps her in a way, 

a ghost of smiles and familiar lines. 

Her eyes, 

the curve of her mouth?

They're mine now,

reflections and the echoes 

of a past slipping away.

Some days tho, 

i see her and it's like a warm hand

on my shoulder,

in that moment its a blessing. 

Other days the guilt burns, 

an ice cold emptiness

where her memory should be.

How dare I forget.

How dare I carry on.

There's anger too, 

twisting up inside. 

How dare she leave

and force this life upon me?

Yet, when the tears dry, 

the mirror still speaks the truth: 

her strength lives on in my bones, 

her love is woven into the 

very shape of who i’ve become.

i smile at the stranger with her familiar eyes. 

We are one in this reflection, 

the Mother lost and the son who keeps on breathing.

Addicted to the Laugh

The high produced 

by the laugh i consume

from the joke i prepared 

and you consumed,

or the laugh induced 

by the words i used 

is addictive. 

It’s not scripted,

humor is gifted

and moods are lifted.

Almost, as high as 

the high produced 

by the laugh i consume.  

Dreams for Sale

i have some dreams to sell and i keep

them in a book.

If you want to take a look that is???

Your lights gone.

Or faded anyways and

the fire in your belly

flickers

like a candle burning

it's last day.

It should be raging

wildly and passionately

for others to see and help lite their ways.

So come, have a look.

i have some dreams to sell,

i keep them in a book.

dreams for sale