my God
this tree
it fascinates me
it is alive I know it
it whispers when I pass
and bows in recognition
proud and hovering over the drive
like a gargoyle over the city
always there
always watching
a reminder that there are ghosts
that shadow us
that wait for us to notice them

and now the tree is gone
toppled onto the road
and removed
like an old soldier
that served well
but just fades away
all but forgotten

now I am gone
after 11 years of watching over this property
brothers of the night
we were
it has taken a piece of me to it's grave

The clock is ticking,
Bon Iver playing in the background,
Every note dragging her in deeper.

She's sitting on the sofa;
Shoulders hunched,
Tugging at the sleeves of her jumper,
Wine glass in one hand,
The other wiping away her tears as they fall.  

She wonders if she'll ever get over this;
This feeling of hopelessness ripping her to shreds,
She wonders if she'll ever make it out alive,
Without you by her side.

13 | 31 Poems for August 2017

I wrote many of my poems in Braille for the kind of love I was desperately longing to feel.
I’m still catching feelings; my words are revealing and that’s why you’ll know that this poem is about you.
Let me tell you about my version of events while we listen to Emeli Sandé on any given Sunday.
For what it’s worth, I was only trying to make things work, but I got high on love during my hiatus.
I’ve had to learn to love you in silence and as if that wasn’t enough, I’ve had to learn to love you from a distance.
I know you didn’t give me permission to, but I already started talking to God about you.
Maybe in your quiet time at exactly the right time, I could possibly be your one and only valentine.
I think I finally understand it now, I’m a hopeless romantic who insists on remaining hopeful.
Let me tell you about my version of events while we listen to Emeli Sandé on any given Sunday.

she's made of gold but she wants green
voice sounds like she's been choking
on someone else's fumes

she tweets but she doesn't even text
her husband about half those things
everyone knows she does out on the streets

Come on friend.
Let's take a vacation at home.
Unleash our minds
And follow where they want to roam.
Hold out your hand.
Here is the key,
A funny little fungus
Called psilocybe.

What a beautiful world.
Was this here the whole time?
Something sacred and old
Hidden deep in the mind?

There's patterns on the ceiling and the walls have started swaying.
A purple haze is forming but old Jimi isn't playin.
Now hands are reaching down from that vibrant purple mist.
They want me to go with them
And now fear replaces bliss.

I stand up and I pace around.
Get it together man.
It's all imagination.
Are you really scared of hands?
Just sit down and relax a bit
And let the show unfold.
The music sounds amazing and there's beauty to behold.

Hey man do you feel that presence that is in the room?
Someone else is here now but I don't know where or who.
It's a woman and a mother.
That much seems very clear.
She's been with us the whole time.
I can't see her but she's near.

I don't know what you mean man.
I don't get that sense at all.
All I see are patterns and the breathing of the walls.

Remember the boy you were and the man you wanted to be.
He's still inside you son and only you can set him free.

© Jason Comeaux (6/20/17)