The road not taken, a most insidious thought:
A destiny more prosperous or more deadly?
We walk a path that changes on a whim—
A fork sprouting with each decision,
And only one can be chosen.
The most crushing blow: realizing a permanent past.
To meander the back roads in search of a familiar
Tree, home,
The you that once was—
Found only in the ashes of burnt husks.
An inky sky scorched by lightning,
Wind so loud like a wailing woman,
A sad night marked by ill omens—
Then suddenly!
A knock on the door, nearly muted,
Followed by a scraping against the wood.
“Please,” issues the soft plea,
A ghastly thunderclap following.
The rain pours in heavy sheets,
No soul outside tonight.
“Tomorrow. You can die tomorrow.”
The wailing never stops.
A child’s first impressions:
The world immense,
Strangers avoided,
Crayola crayons—all 96 colors!
Mother, distant and strong;
Father, warm and jovial;
Marriage, a contract ephemeral—
Fleeting happiness and chronic pain.
A child’s innocence fades with time.
Reality forges a different mold,
That a child wears uncertainly.
Adolescence, a state in flux.
An adult’s impressions:
The world a smaller place,
Strangers a potential friend,
Parents only human.
Mother, bitter and unbent;
Father, sad and unwilling;
Communication, an action stalled—
Fleeting words, chronic anger.
An adult’s indifference transforms.
Experience forges a new mold,
That an adult wears confidently.
Adulthood, a state seeking lost wonder.
Plead with hands folded like the Virgin,
Knees bent and sotto voce words.
Honeyed promises and tearful eyes—
Emotions that could make a statue weep.
Too late, my dear, the lies take root—
Deception so deep even you start to believe.
Cry, cry, cry until the well runs dry,
A gaze on you that will never fold.
I’ll pierce your heart like a cancer—
Slowly. Painfully. Deadly.
I’ll eat you to pieces like the way
You did me.
Describe to me a pain so deep,
That cuts to the core—hollowing out
—every drop of warmth once inhabited.
A smile masks unquenchable rage.
You kill me. I kill you.
Let’s destroy this world together.
Truth is in the eye of the beholder.
Fact is the monster lives inside us all.
Late winter, cold and brisk,
Breaths billowing like small clouds—
A cold gale snatches them away,
Like a covetous thief, hungry.
Bare trees stand skeletal and lonely,
Against a dirty suburban landscape.
A bough snaps like an electric crack,
Breaking under such frigid pressure.
The frost melts with time—
Even the most unyielding thaws.
Peace arrives in a green bud,
Flourishing on a single branch.
A drowsy morning:
Track maintenance slows a train
To an old turtle.
Questions jumble together like—
who am i
where did i go wrong
why have i never been in love
am i everything i always thought myself to be
Creating a sort of numbness that paralyzes.
And yet.
A greater weight crushes this messy inquiry—
i know who i am
i don’t need to know the future
i will find love one day
i am always changing
Banishing those nagging demons away.
A Curious Hermit 