NFG

You should know
I can’t even listen to New Found Glory
Without thinking of you
And I’ve waited too long
And that snow trip we took
I thought I’d found that someone

That snow trip
Where you took my phone and DJ’d all the way home
The triple date
Where I was made fun of for ordering tea
And in the parking lot
And you pulled me in for a kiss in your passenger seat

You should know
Sometimes I think of you for no reason at all
And at other times, for very specific reasons
When I’m watching hockey
Because you’re still the only girl I’ve seen in nothing but my jersey
Or Dr. Horrible
Because just having you near reminds me, “Heads up, Billy buddy.”

And you should know
I can’t listen to New Found Glory without thinking of you
Now it’s been years since we’ve talked
And I’ve no right to bother you with this
So I’ll just lie in my bed lying to myself about what could’ve been
This is where my head’s at tonight
And it’s all downhill from here

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NFG

Reconciliation and Recompense

The person I hate isn’t you
It’s the construct of you I’ve created in my head
So really, it’s just me I hate
And you might’ve forgiven me
But I don’t think I ever did
For the crime committed
It’ll never be forgotten
It has shaped the husk of a ‘man’
Living here as I stand
So, like your grandfather, I’m ready for the end.
All I’ve got to do
Pull the trigger and dream away

The person I loved wasn’t you
It was a version of you I’d dreamed of
So really, you were just a fantasy
Another one of my escapist ploys
To dissuade me from living in this world
I wasn’t a real boy
Strings were still attached
Controlled by the puppet master
So, here I am, finally ready to cut the strings
It’s all I’ve left to do
Snip away and fall into the abyss

Reconciliation and Recompense

An Open Letter To A Past Mistake

What would you say if I told you that I’ve written about you? Would you like it? Or, would you simply dismiss it as so many others have? … As I once did to you … I’m sorry; I was preoccupied. I didn’t let myself live in the real world. I was stuck in the fantasy I had created for myself in years previous. And now, it’s too late. Isn’t it? Oh, can we go back to the grass that beautiful Shabbat in Jerusalem? I’m so sorry I didn’t make you feel every bit of how beautiful you were, you are. Now that I at least have the words to say, it’s too late. You’ve surpassed me. You’re this wonderful intelligent giant, and I’m but a grasshopper skittering about at your feet. You occasionally look down with a warm smile marveling at my meek existence. And again, I’m sorry for I have self-imposed this silence between us. I think it’s because I feel ashamed for not letting you in. You were my manic pixie dream girl, but this isn’t a Woody Allen movie…

An Open Letter To A Past Mistake

Dear Reader

Dear Reader,
How do I tell her
That I’ve been chasing her
Ever since high school
But not this
Who she’s become
Who she was then
Not that that was all that great
I mean, she was all that
But I left me high and dry
She moved on into the arms of some other guy
And used me to facilitate
Her hand right into his left
Now I’m boiling over; full of hate
Eyes out the window, contemplating all that is
How do I tell me
That it’s all my fault
Without bending and breaking to the wind
Whispered from her lips
But not this
Who I’ve become
Versus who I was then
Not that I’m worth a shit
Or ever really was, admirable
And I left her just when I’d changed her mind
Knowing it’s my right that I’m right, about this
Her, or my, inevitable lackluster
Disappointment in one or the other
Now I’m welling up; eyes full of tears
Blurring all in sight, setting it all askew
How do I tell the tale
That has transpired
Without betraying
Any of our faults
And all that we’ve become?

 

Dear Reader

Sappho — Catullus — Zachor

Here, the one who is god-like
exceeding great cosmic power
because they command your attention
although not through force
Your laughter — only it can wrench
my heart from depression darkest
For when my gaze meets yours, my voice has
forgotten its place
Tongue swallowed whole, and within
lava bubbles to the pores of my skin,
thunder of the gods cannot be heard, the veil
has concealed my eyes
Tepid sweat envelops, my person rattled
throughout, as bereft as the dead
as I am and inert — as the dirt
covering this Earth
Torpor, Zachor, is your enemy true: torpor
pushes you to the worst of your extremes:
torpor, through the ages, has felled those once of bravado
and celerity
That this Lillith has lilt your heart from within
burning, but not just at both, yet from all ends
her hands pull at the ashen wicks – threads – strings
to this heart’s content
Sappho — Catullus — Zachor

The Solstice’s Gentle Whisper

And when you leave
you’ll have been another mistake
that I made through inaction
through these years
blowing in the breeze
as a dried dead husk
What I will miss the most
as with so many others
is the idea of you
the pillow intimacy
and soft words unsaid
only ever imagined

I need the heat of summer
I need to feel her breeze in my beard
that wisp that taps my shoulder
haunting me through my waking dreams
arousing me to this fever pitch

That gesture you made
as you walked away
like on a hot dry day
being bathed in the sea
an incongruous ebb
amongst the never ceasing flow
Or like the breeze
with the scent of summer flowers
against the torrential showers
whisking about with ease
this last bastion of hope
from the unthreading rope

I need the summer comfort
I need to feel her caress; her breeze
that hand on the back like a salve
unknowingly pushing me onward
despite all this resistance

And when this grows
ever too cold to bear
after summer has left her snare behind
to turn this sanguineous
stream frozen still
with only hapless hope
Will she return
to this land once more
bringing with her
the time when again
hills are verdantly beaming
bright against the sky

The Solstice’s Gentle Whisper

The Search and The Path

I see you from afar
nearer though than I can tell
from across this schism
This gap, This chasm
I may attempt to cross
but how does one
prune and prick
the blunted seeds of the past
to let them lie and die
away from the now
in order to move forward
toward the prized hoard
that which differs ‘tween us all
to be the blinding light
to which all else falters
The coda to The Search
For that is what I aim
with you, for us

We could sweep from the black earth
all of its soot and what hides within
and with roots unearthed
rise from this lessened berth
or to set aside
our own garden of bliss
protected from all
that would hope to detract
or skew or refract
this beautiful sapling

I see you from afar
like the words in a book
intimately I know you
but only intellectually
for the seed has only
sprouted in my mind
and in times like these
I stroll the orchard
full of the choicest fruits
ill-labored and in bloom
as I choose
The Path; It winds
on a precarious whim
at times out of reach
My way is all I seek
as my feet find their way
falling into place
with me, for me

The Search and The Path