Dodging memories that bring me pain
I scurry through the obstacles
I set up for my foolish self
To keep me from the place I need to be.

I bruise my shins repeatedly
On dangers that I did not see
Due to the fancy mask I wear
That blocks half of my vision.

The need for haste is manifest
By ever looming banks of fog
That somehow scheme to bar my way
And keep me from salvation.
                 ljm

I am not The Last Spring Overture
My birth name was Spring, not Greig
And I am not the last of us
Although I soon may sadly be.
I gave my violin away
To someone who abused it
And died with it still in its case
And unavailable to me.
I loaned my autoharp to one
Who never gave it back to me.
My mandolin was somehow stolen
Off my wall during a party.
Years have brought me dolorosa
For the music I’ve not made
On instruments I never learned to play,
The voice that wouldn’t do my will.
My mind can play that Overture
And does it almost once a week
So maybe what I said was wrong
I am The Last Spring Overture
ljm

There is no need to shout at us-
If your words paint a picture we will see it.
We can squint and peer through lowered lids
And find the image in a myriad of dots.

It is not necessary that you push us-
We will follow if you gently lead, and find the storm
As fierce and moving as you think you need
To act out with your thunder voice and flailing arms.

Inflection works a well as histrionics,
And a subtle tone allows us space to build
The structures that your words describe.
There is no need to hammer us.

Singsong forces us to wade into the stream
And wield our nets of understanding endlessly
In hopes of capturing like silvered fish
The thoughts we’d rather cast for from the shore.

Just stand and calmly pull away
The drapes that hide the cake you wish to share.
In simple words divide it up
And we will eat it and be filled.
                      ljm

This world is a testing place
It prepares us for the life to come
There are no tears in heaven
Those who don't cry now are cursed
These aren't death throes but growing pains
Every time they used me as a stepping stone
Every time they betrayed me
I chose to extend peace back to them
I did not fight back
I am a stumbling block to their pride
Going from place to place receiving blows,
only to have God elevate me to a point
Where my uptick makes them squeal
And squirm like spoiled toddlers
I take no pleasure in it
There is a pain on my conscience
I could have done more to serve my maker
Yet to my credit
I chose blindness and death over evil
All these memories I have of being used
They **** me off enough to stick to the straight path
I am being tried and tested
Yet the heat of the furnace does not hurt me
I do not fear my own destruction
But what I might do in haste
To the oppressor
I struggle to forgive the evildoer in my heart
Though outwardly I forgive them instantly
The pain they caused is undeniable
At night I reflect upon it
I cannot sleep without reliving the past
Replaying their words in my mind
I'm glad I never caused a huge ripple
But dwelled in the shade until I was ready
Going from dark place to dark place
After all, we still live in the shadows

What will I leave
when I leave
a bunch of words
for someone to read?

What will I leave
when I leave
memories of a life less lived?

What will I leave
when I leave
dreams that remained unfulfilled?

Whatever I leave behind
will stay behind.
Not be my companion
in that other world.

I’m in a contest I can’t win
Or even come in second.
My bird has flown from the streetlight arm
And taken promise with it.

Another lands and then departs
To mock my hopeful prayers
The sky teems with symbolic fowl
But I can’t suss their meaning.

A big one flew straight over me
But I can’t read its message.
Was it promising good health
Or telling me it’s sorry

That I’ll only get just what I have
To get me through tomorrow
And if I am not strong enough
The game will then be over.

Why are birds the messengers
In answer to my pleas
They send me signals I can’t read
And I walk on in darkness.
ljm

Lying under the covers,
staring out the window,
I watch the colors changing—
with grace, so slow, yet swift.

From shades of gray and black,
and silver brushed with white,
to a deep and drowning blue,
then gold—the world alight.

The night’s low, humming silence
gives way to chirps, then song—
a symphony of whistling birds,
all joining in at once.

And through it all, I whisper
your sweet name, tenderly,
wishing it could bring you back,
just once more, to hold you close.

Like a flower fading first from it's core,
water never reaching, veins running dry—
slowly dying, no one seeing the collapse,
as the colors burn ever so bright.

You were the rain that drowned me,
roots drunk, petals swelled with light.
Now, rot creeps in and mold blooms slow,
still I clutch the last drops of you, too tight.

i may have dug the hole
but you pushed me into it
now i’m stuck down here
buried in this mess