Flight

It's always bittersweet to leave a place.
Bitter should be obvious, because
It's difficult to calmly re-erase
The parts of us we put - everyone does -
Into the place we were. Sweet is less clear
Unless the place we're going to we like;
Otherwise the sweetness must appear
In motion, much like taking a long hike
Where every breath may bring a little pain
From burning lungs or muscles working hard
But overall the walk, despite that strain,
Seems pleasant, and refuses to be marred.
So I while leaving here feel not so great
But moving and arriving recreate.

Est

I start too often with 'there is';
It has by now become a crutch
For when my mind has failed to fizz
Or when my start has left too much
For me to do. I try to find
A metaphor, and, searching, use
This crutch to help my piece of mind
To hold up where it wants to ooze.
I do not mean 'there is' can't be
The start of something that inspires
Or that its meaning is to me
A void whose usefulness expires,
But rather that I ought to try
To find some other way to sigh.

Long Distance

Ice cream melts, and that's a shame
But that's what it's designed to do
Unless you eat it, so the blame
(If any) ought to fall on you.
When it gets milky, liquid, wet,
You know the fault is yours alone
For how on earth could you forget
That time will melt an ice cream cone?
But when you leave I am confused
For though I know you have to go
My gut still somehow feels abused
Since it's a different thing to know
And to be certain in my heart
That we two live so far apart.

Gary IN

The sky is empty, waiting
For cloudy days to come
Always anticipating
The end of the hum-drum
But while it waits it sees
The land beneath it roar
And innovate a breeze
That bears a cloud to soar
Not of nature's make,
Whiter than the norm
Which never seems to slake
Or dissipate its form
And so the sky is filled
And nature's way is stilled.

Go

The days of waiting are the strangest ones
When nothing seems to happen, yet there seems
To be no time to do it in. Time runs
Out of the pores of life, and into dreams
Which stretch eternally while wakeful hours
Pass by in minutes. Nothing is the same
As it should be, and knowing that fact sours
The things themselves and everything seems lame.
It would be better if the time were gone
Already, and the waiting were not there;
But day must always start up with the dawn
And cannot skip the morning. It's not fair,
But waiting has to happen too, and so
I wait and wait and cannot wait to go.

Mindfully

Perhaps the time will rush right by
Perhaps it will be all too soon
When I exit the afternoon
And enter night. I cannot lie:
I feel the worry, when I die
That nothingness is not a boon,
And, like the sadly moaning loon,
I fear the end and what is nigh.
But maybe life is long enough
To make the mind forget that woe
And in the time allotted grow
To become made of sterner stuff
And look at death and say "I know."
But right now thinking that is tough.

Where

The breeze blows rain across my windowpane
Which makes me wonder if it's raining where
You are, wherever that may be. The grain
Shows dark against the woodwork there,
Dyed by the water, and I wonder whether
You're seeing what I see. I cannot tell.
I do not think we share the selfsame weather,
As if by some strange sympathetic spell,
But still I wish for that bit of connection,
That spark that says that you and I are one,
That where we are is nothing but direction,
And when we part there's nothing truly done
For we are still together in our hearts
And somehow that exceeds external parts.

+

Even when the time I spend is good
(Exciting, happy, full of what I will),
I cannot shake the feeling that I should
For all of it prefer your presence still.
Despite the joy I feel when I'm away
(Not caused, of course, by your departure, dear)
My smile droops a little anyway
Because I miss you, and you should be here.
For every moment I am glad without
Your smile, your laugh, your every little thing
I feel as certain, without any doubt,
That with you I'd be happier. You bring
A kind of joy I cannot otherwise
Acquire - and without it my soul sighs.

One

Time is a slow friend
But is a fast foe.
Time will have no end
'Til all of us go,
But he can be kind
When least expected.
Time heals the hurt mind,
Which, redirected,
Can be much better
Than what it once was;
Still, time's a fetter
Since what a man does
Cannot be undone.
Tries? You just get one.

Not Just Anybody

The hardest days are those when you let go
And watch your loved ones waddle off, away
From your companionship. Although you know
They'll be OK, and come again someday
(Even someday soon) there is no boot:
You simply have to sigh. You cannot choose.
There is no chance that God will grant your suit
And turn them back around so you don't lose
Their company. They're going and that's that.
You have to deal with it - though it is hard,
Though every nerve feels pounded hard and flat,
Though every good thing feels like it was marred,
You have to deal. And they can help - for living
Ends not with leaving. Neither then does giving.