The floorboards moan in the breath of midnight silence. The memories desire to crawl to the surface. Who is laughing in the shelter of innocence? The clowns are breathing, sobbing as their makeup falls into a pool of colors. There are women there, young girls, too. Their bodies are burning with Satan’s flame, almost consuming their virginity. Who can find them in the dark, when the ghosts of everyone wounded on the battlefields of hatred are mocking their charm? The blurred realities are windows unopened. Beyond the serrated marble stone, against the cracks of poverty and trash, a cat meows at the window. A Cat eye can pierce the soul without spilling blood on the floor. The music wanders across the empty fields, guitars, fiddles, flutes, drums, and violins skip with Sr. Walter Scott. Mr. Lovecraft can unlock the door, but the welfare check has taken the key to some white building North-East. Someone’s at the door. It is an unbelievable scene with Mr. Hat and his lucky clovers. He’ll never share his privileged makeup. The clowns had taken the last of Mr. Hat’s golden coins. Science answers all the questions, right? Science punched religion in the chest and religion called to God. “Please, help me! He punched me in the chest. I can’t breathe.” Science chuckled, filled a few minds with ideas, and waited. Silence woke from her chamber, wordlessly climbed a hill and shook her head. “You see,” Science yelled. “Nothing.” Religion cried, tears filled the valleys below. Hatred found Religion sitting on the side of the road, dreaming about Gods and monsters. “Trouble with the clowns. Trouble with the makeup. Virginity has been taken. A Cat’s eye can see more than this.” Religion coughed. Hatred lynched a ****** from a tree because Old Man Religion said it was fine. No one believed him anyway. “What’s a ****** to me but a grain of sand in the wind?” Walking a black dog all day is enough to satisfy the ghosts. Man stops at a clock along the way to work, shakes his head, and wonders if what he is doing is wrong. “Not worth the money. Not worth the time. What am I doing here? I’d rather run away from this place, run through the woods and find a cabin to live in.” The clock continues to tick. The man presses on.
Change is twirling around ******’s finger. It’s been a longtime coming. That’s what the say these days. Passivity feeds the majority, or so ****** had told Jesus after a conflict in the Vatican. “Jews can be lynched, too.” One officer said. The stars are falling now. Water is flowing through the long, endless passages of time. Answers will be given, answers will be taken. Questions will be lost, questions will be found. Someone once asked Winston Churchill if he’d share is cigar and he said, “Why not.” Someone shouts, “Who cares.” Obama is following everyone to their homes. He’s a slippery little ******.

Stirring in the woods,
Chatter,
The red of the morning glow
Breathing through the air.

A lifetime of sleep
Ending with a moment of sight.

I wanna rip this beating heart out.
I wanna throw it to the wolves.
I wanna feel there nashing teeth
on splintered human veins.
I wanna see you melt the darkness
that has eatin into my brain.
I wanna see you be a trickster
and slice these putred sayings,
these words that i live by,
that open up my mind
to wonders that can see through
all the screaming bleeding cries.
The screams of people dying,
being murdered in the streets.
The cries of all the children
that are weeping at my feet.
I wanna see your face
twist in crooked agony
at the sight of all these horrors
laying dormant in your dreams…..

OPPOSITE my chamber window,
On the sunny roof, at play,
High above the city's tumult,
Flocks of doves sit day by day.
Shining necks and snowy bosoms,
Little rosy, tripping feet,
Twinkling eyes and fluttering wings,
Cooing voices, low and sweet,-

Graceful games and friendly meetings,
Do I daily watch and see.
For these happy little neighbors
Always seem at peace to be.
On my window-ledge, to lure them,
Crumbs of bread I often strew,
And, behind the curtain hiding,
Watch them flutter to and fro.

Soon they cease to fear the giver,
Quick are they to feel my love,
And my alms are freely taken
By the shyest little dove.
In soft flight, they circle downward,
Peep in through the window-pane;
Stretch their gleaming necks to greet me,
Peck and coo, and come again.

Faithful little friends and neighbors,
For no wintry wind or rain,
Household cares or airy pastimes,
Can my loving birds restrain.
Other friends forget, or linger,
But each day I surely know
That my doves will come and leave here
Little footprints in the snow.

So, they teach me the sweet lesson,
That the humblest may give
Help and hope, and in so doing,
Learn the truth by which we live;
For the heart that freely scatters
Simple charities and loves,
Lures home content, and joy, and peace,
Like a soft-winged flock of doves.

I told you it's fine, I'll be okay
I thought the pain will go away
Thinking the stories will fade
But I guess, Im still in pain

I fake a smile, and kissed you
Saying it's fine and I love you
And I do, whatever Im in..it's all about you
Though tears keep on passing through

On the phone, I said I'm fine
when on the other line I was trying not to cry
'Was hoping you wont notice im about to die
Ive proven that im good in pretending. I lied

It's been months; still I'm here
When I should've walk away yet stayed
Cos everything's going well even if Im in tears
I'd lie a thousand times that Im fine while I die a little inside.

WIFE and servant are the same,
But only differ in the name :
For when that fatal knot is ty'd,
Which nothing, nothing can divide :
When she the word obey has said,
And man by law supreme has made,
Then all that's kind is laid aside,
And nothing left but state and pride :
Fierce as an eastern prince he grows,
And all his innate rigour shows :
Then but to look, to laugh, or speak,
Will the nuptial contract break.
Like mutes, she signs alone must make,
And never any freedom take :
But still be govern'd by a nod,
And fear her husband as a God :
Him still must serve, him still obey,
And nothing act, and nothing say,
But what her haughty lord thinks fit,
Who with the power, has all the wit.
Then shun, oh ! shun that wretched state,
And all the fawning flatt'rers hate :
Value yourselves, and men despise :
You must be proud, if you'll be wise.

A faint noise in a current of forgotten happenings
Some unknown feeling I fight for to keep myself together
Time out to determine the source of this pulsing sensation
Alone to a day met in an alley
Vocalizing a pain I've known for a while but refused to show
Falling apart to the rhythm of solitude
My world just isn't the same
A spark forgotten long ago that held us together
I'm bleeding from the outside in and wiping the dirt into the wound
Good times left undone as we spend lives apart
Hosting feelings of gratitude and self-worth
I'm not gracious but hostile and volatile
A bomb waiting to blow apart
My timer set to minutes
I speak my mind but its gone in seconds
I've torn my sleeves off send my heart with them
I left my pleadings at home lest they come out as despair
My words come as murmurs in the wind
Taken away as they reach you
Faint sounds of a time left unspoken
Etchings of moments that have yet to pass
Crystal ***** show what is to be but mine is an opaque abyss
Just sit back and wait for whatever happens next
I can't change the past but maybe the future
Just sit back and wait

Mitchell S. Bartlett