The Empty House

I have watched the days pass by, without a glance—

From the vapid window that haunts us all.

Voices flush your newfound grin, erase

The hidden sorrow etched much deeper

Than it was before—a face older than it was

Before.

I have heard the birds ere the dawn of day,

Springtime smiles, to find misery—

We find misery—among the fallen leaves,

Forgetting what it means to be free.

Carefree stories, adhere to rusted jaws,

For I have felt the saddest of days, to contrast

The birth of twists of fate, so dark

And dreary, the words we spoke lose all meaning—

Ai, by the ear of the rabbit, the fox

Has no wisdom to teach—morale to pass.

I have tasted the nectar of defeat—

The all-consuming loathing, that is,

The most bittersweet—the lingering

Scar of the spiteful words we speak.

I have been captivated with the aroma

Of the fallen tree’s decay, the all consuming

Fatigue driven by the beetles that I see—

The insects in the walls, that paint us

Four different shades of green—

Greed, Envy, Jealousy and spite.

I have learned what it is to live again—

Father time has stolen our youth,

On that boardwalk across the sands,

Walk young in the dreams of a jaded life,

Oh, but wouldn’t we just rather sleep?

In the forest that never sleep, four walls

That will never let you be.

See, forget, and speak. Live, forgive and seek.

         DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Dream

For one moment, I had life—I lived, I felt, I cried.

My flesh, taut over my cheeks, had color—I pained,

And from the agony came rebirth, joy, and desire.

By the most serendipitous turn of events, you were

There too, in the dream—the single moment of life

In an otherwise statuesque series of heartbeats.

I don’t remember why, but you were smiling…

There in the dream. It didn’t seem to matter,

Because fortune should have it, I was smiling too.

And though when you spoke, it was not English,

We both spoke gibberish, there in the dream,

As such, we seemed to communicate fine.

For some reason I couldn’t understand

The need of yours to pull upon my heartstrings,

Until the illusion was shattered, and I awoke.

My eyes shot open, my fingers clawed the sheets,

Trying to pull back time, regain the memory

Of when we both sat across from the sea,

Staring at the deluded sunset of my cognition.

There was no temporal component to our lives,

The stories we exchanged, are tales to never be.

We both existed as ghosts within

The confines of my twisted dream—

The Eden I whittled, was blown out like the

Last flickering flame we lit, the flame we lit

Within the dream.

         DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com