There are some who walk      calmly through darkness
because they know how      to kindle a light.

Young Robert clambered from his bed,
This bonny boy, the town smack head.
He drew the curtains, struggling to find his wits,
The death of his brother had made him turn to this, in bits.
Dressed in clothes not changed for a week,
He slowly wandered down the street
Looking for things to rob, dear and cheap.
As he pondered the Edinburgh crowd,
He began to think all were sheep
Stuck in societies pleasures, but little did they know
of the everlasting euphoria that comes with narcota
In the godforsaken rain, wind or snow.
And young Robert, or Bobby to his mates
Was nothing but doomed, funded by the state.

she sat there in silence
digging into her wrist
with tweezers

she said
ants were crawling
under her skin

swore
she only wanted
to let them out

freedom
is a resonating
irony

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul*
It read, a dove caught and crucified
Over two pages whole

In March, she pushed a shining black calf
Into the world, and watched as it staggered
To wobbling legs waiting for her to rise.

She couldn't.
Pinched nerves,
Calving paralysis,
Unable to rise.

My brother and his wife
Bottle fed the calf for several weeks,
Waiting for a miracle,
For which the two had prayed,
And then one day the mother stood
Weak, shaking, but on the mend.

A couple weeks more,
And she was down again,
Stuck in front of the barn
With barely an appetite,
Drinking water from a bucket,
Resting upright in her own mess.

The calf was doing fine.

June 1 came, and field work to do,
My brother, ever patient, could wait no more.
Loaded his old 30-30 and headed to the barn.

He scratched the cow's forehead,
Told her she had been a good bossy,
And that he was sorry, and then looked at her.
He turned and emptied the rifle on the way to the house.

"Lord, it would sure do me a favor
If you were just to take her
So I wouldn't have to shoot her."

He returned to the barn and hayed the bulls.
On his way back to the water tank, he stopped
By his old friend and looked at her.

The cow raised her head,
And while my brother watched,
Her  eyes rolled up and back.
She sighed deeply, and then her head
Sagged down and she was gone.

He called me shortly after,
Still a little bit in awe,
A little bit in pain,
Glad to have me listen,
Though both our mouths were dumb
At the way God's prayers are answered,
And the ways His answers come.

I wake.
Stray beams of sunlight
Leak through the window that
The curtains failed to seal.
There is a welcoming warmth to these beams
Licking at my face.
It singes my skin just a little too much
To remain in bed.

I miss her.
The smell of her hair faintly seeps
Through the pillow we'd lie on
When watching netflix shows.
If I indulge too much, the scent fades.
If I don't delve in it at all
The what use is the smell?

Yet she hasn't gone anywhere - only physically.
I am yearning for memories that haven't been created yet.
I am longing to come back before I have even left.

The duvet is a little too warm,
The room just slightly too cold.
The coffee brewed in 2 minutes
Or less is neither sweet or
Bitter enough - the hum
Of the seemingly inept laptop cooler
Is neither annoying or comforting
Enough for me to want to replace it.

The tinge of impermanence in all this
Leaves something to be desired.
I don't want to go -
But I can't miss her if I don't.
I made the choice to leave this place
Because
I had no reason to stay.

I now regret that.
As soon as I decided to go,
Life gave me a reason not to.

The taste of this conflict
Tastes too much like the irony of life.

for all my life I’ve striven hard
not to be confined
by iambic pentameter
nor other metered rhyme