Strings

And Often

A Silent Understanding..

Between those who have come before

They look to me 
From the other side of this door

I remain strong 
...As if I had the choice

They embrace me, drying my tears

The air is like a vacuum, but painless

While memories remain

I’m reminded of why we’re here

Again I imagine strength

When nothing could compare

She sits away, separate from the rest

She smells different

Her eyes, different

It begins to make sense..

And the image dissolves into waking light

Another piece of the puzzle shakes loose

And so it’s acknowledged

Again, as if there was a choice

Again, the pawn here is me

Nothing left but ambivalence to see

I remain

Pushing puzzled pieces
Into previously carved moments

Awaiting the spring
To show me my next move

And often
My feet follow me

ⓒ 2004 Shawn Michael Quinn

Foxhole

My life is open, empty, beautiful

Kiss it, vomit, if you must

Here it is, adjust

Alive amongst angst

In the news, in the bars, in life

Here I am to speak it (listen up)

Become what you despise

Burn in your own demise

You, less than the shadow

Of anything you’d ever hoped to become

There’s nothing in what you hold

No heart, no soul

No love, no faith, you’re nothing

And anyway you could ever break

Me, think again, there’s nothing you could take

I am all heart, I give away the givens

I’m always chopping

But you, you swine

You couldn’t conceive of the heart I have

You have no thing, nothing

Wasted, dying, dead, ripe with decay

Take what I’ve given

Taste its worth…

Taste every bitter pill

Dying, falling down your hill

No balance, no light

No strength, no heart, no soul

Just a worthless battle that were you to win

Its loss would be incomparable

Worthy, the fame of a parable

You fool, you dying fool

How could I envy you?

This kiss I cannot give you

I will blow in the wind

My old friend

Say goodbye you sad soul

Dig that foxhole

Bury yourself, soul deep

And kiss her feet when at last you meet

But this karma comes before sleep

So until again we meet

My old friend bury yourself, your soul, 6 feet deep

ⓒ 2005 Shawn Michael Quinn