Come back home, come back home to me

All of three, the little lady,

Wept like the baby she is.

Across a million miles, on the phone she cried,

Dada, when are you coming back home?

She wailed and howled, when I said girl, not now,

Not for some time, but soon, you’ll see…

Ok, she said, her sobs full of dread

Of a daughter left to hurt and feel…

A pain that no child, should ever have to cry

For a dad not there to be.

Come back soon, come back now
Come back when, come back how
Come back home, come back home to me

The dog days are not over

Not with the first flush of beauty, Nor the rush of dark pain;
Not with the hollow of emptiness, Nor the seasoning of shame.
Not till the healer is released, To work upon the maimed.
Will my life bear meaning, will the chaos be tamed.

Not with the taunts of truth’s burdens, Nor fallow reasoning of blame;
Not with the blighting of the spirit, Nor the mind’s trivial games;
Not the failing of the sprit, Nor the body’s end game;
Not till the keeper of my conscience gets her chance at the wheel
Will love, joy and peace finally prevail.

Happy New Year

Wherever you are, know that I will always love you
Wherever you go, know that my spirit soars over the land to protect you
However you live, I will always have a prayer for you
No matter the moment, or the day, or the year…
Time will always stand still when I think of you.
As hairs grey, and spines stoop, as wisdom wanes and passion thins
As darkness falls and life fades…
I wait not for the dawn of hope… for it will come as surely as each New Year… let it come for you, and you alone

White Cliffs of Dover

The White Cliffs of Dover, hung over me like an ogre,
But only in my dreams, thankfully,
Had I traveled to see:

A scraggly face of rock
Peeking out of wisps of clouds,
Invitingly grim, thrillingly grey;
As far below its gaze the sea thrashed against its bulk

With each sure step, I assiduously climbed,
Crack over rock, rock soaked in brine;
The White Cliffs of Dover I steadily stalked
Until at last, I was atop,
At the breach of the peak,
World far below, sky at my feet,
And then…
I jumped…
But thankfully, only in my dreams.

Move over, Byron

Well, how long did you reckon I’d go without trying to be upstage Lord Byron…

I don’t dare dream no more
Instead, I only do nightmares
I don’t dare sleep no more
Instead, I do nightshifts
Actually, I just don’t dare anymore…

Well, not entirely true

I do dare cry now though
Got a storehouse of tears to clear
I also dare to scream,
Mostly inside of my head
But it sounds quite loud, and often,
Resounds, over and over again
Like a sound track to the dead

Stop that damn noise!,
Can’t you see I’m trying to live!