For me, too much time had passed
as I carved a niche in to
myself and in living,
I only protected my bleated heart.
Maybe, it’s the age of times
or just my lone age in life,
I feel you within a breath.
Close like the surrounding air,
I see your mind ticking,
carefully watching the world
in which few know.
Always fighting against the current,
rarely looking back
I see the tidal flow eluding me.
It is passing through
and coming back around,
continuous with subsistence,
bringing fire, like an oil slick
in flames.
I have stumbled on your
sweet sincerity and earnest way,
free and born again.
Although, not of doctored
moral standards but
within distinctiveness drawn by life’s
observations and preservation.
In some residential homes,
life is often like a house of cards.
I have given them up to reside
in wooded shanty shacks,
taking time to give them propriety,
while struggling and pushing forth
to have a kingdom come for me.
During which, I have given all I could
to the small souls in my care;
I have allowed no others
to see such reasons to feel free.
I have laid myself to rest
in my own comfort.
Yet, you however haunt me
with your intellect.
Staying vigilant throughout the years,
only gathering strength for those close,
I feel you pass through,
leaving me in thought.
I cannot escape the feeling
that I can feel you;
not that I know you
or have claim to your thinking,
but feel your strength ringing
as if it were my own.
In return, I have left my inhibitions
at the door and left
without a jacket made of armor.
Once lost from frailty and strife,
I come across your house,
and your sidewalk,
I stand there dim-witted and distraught.
The fog begins to elude me
and I see the house,
covered in shrubs and ivy
with bricks laid adorned.
A strong foundation sits weathered,
though liberated by wind,
rain, sleet and snow and
disclosed by the seasons passing.
My mind rests, no longer blue from death
but filled with blue breath
that frost has bitten too.
I stand there fragile by just being,
on behalf of dread and terror
that resides within glass houses.
Passing by, your windows were
illuminated with light,
with one room vividly dark,
eerily empty and taunting.
Then, I felt your reoccurring ghost
contained within my own simplicity.
"I take pleasure in your acquaintance and
your unequivocal ideas and theories
in contemplation and redemption".
The long haunting feeling surrounding me,
frees me as I become more
visible and apparent in form.
May I haunt you too by sitting down on your stoop?
