"What If"

You will always wonder
"what if"
Just as if it was meant to be.
As if something belonged
Embraced by your soul
Looking out for who you
Are now
and what you intend
To become.

You know no more
Than the length of your breath
Or the wink of your eye.
Intentional or involuntary
Such is a movement
Like the holding of another's hand.

It hurts right now--
Those feelings of misunderstanding
And longing. The love that
You once felt
Knowing that those feelings
Must change.
Not knowing
What tomorrow may bring
Always wishing for moments of
Changing the yesterday.

Reach your hand out. 
and grasp
At those moments that belong
To all of your today's and
Tomorrows. Because
The control is not yours
It never was.

White Elephant

A door has opened

And you are all alone

Alone by yourself

Awestruck by the loss of possibilities

And you wonder if you are really

Alone

In a world full of people

Interested in themselves

Uninterested in you

In nothing other than selfishness

Incapable of understanding

Clairvoyance

Clearly connecting yourself to that

White Elephant

Conveying your voice to a

Consciously confused

Crowd

And all you truly want

Is the undeniably

Conscious response,

“Yes. I heard you.”

Muffled Bark

Stifle the mechanic,

Bark.

Hands grasp

Earnestly around

The snout of a clueless

Aggressor.

Afraid

And passionately curious

He becomes

Unsure of how to

React.

A whine.

A growl.

A muffled bark.

Air exits the sides of his cheeks.

A pressure touches

Your hands,

Warning you that there is more to come.

And endless cycle of excitement.

But he goes no where. Because you’re

Holding his voice

And not letting go.

Premeditated barking,

Instantly discontinued--

Like the obnoxious whine

Of your favorite

Childhood toy fading

From 5 year old batteries

Deciding they had a last few

Moments to breath.

Quieting under your hand

And the passing of an

Unidentified subject

Foot clomps softly

Fading into the distance.

And now you’re both

Free to stretch and

Resume

Whatever you where doing

Whatever that might be.

Never Your Future

Your fingertips spread methodically

Like the wave of a fan.

Joints stretch and bones lengthen

To close the distance

As you reach

Your long awaited goal.

Eyes closed,

Anticipation meeting your fingertips.

And there it is—

The star.

Your finger tips

And then your palm

Wrap tightly around

The brilliantly glowing star.

And you make a

Wish. But nothing happens.

You wait. Patiently.

But nothing happens.

Perplexed—you release

Your grasp.

And you watch--

As your life’s goal

Floats away.

You’ve been told

Every moment,

Of every day,

To reach,

Reach for those stars.

Because maybe

Just maybe,

You will come in contact

With one. And your dreams

Will come true.

But why would you

Reach so far,

So far outside of yourself

To try and become

Something you're not,

Something you’ll never truly be?

Your fierce disbelief sits

On the tip of your nose,

Astutely smiling at the answer

You already know.

You never truly needed to

Clutch the star.

You never truly needed to

Make a wish.

You never truly needed the

Star to permit your success.

All you truly needed was

You.

Background Noise

Born to breath

In the path of your

Closest friend.

Discovery made from

Circumstance.

A far cry from what you thought

Or imagined.

Did you honestly think

That you could avoid

Events personal to the result of your being?

Loud and unforgivable

Like the faucet smothering

The sound of conversation.

“She shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,

I can’t whssssssssssssssss.”

But who do you feel sorry for?

Is it not yourself that

Stomped one

Proverbial foot in front of

Another

Eating and gnawing

On the words

That you so cleverly created?

Or did you create them?

Confused person.

Never looking

Beyond the tip of your nose.

I pass the puck

Into your able hands

Asking for only what

You are capable of:

Loud Silence.

Thought.

And the ability to

Overcome

What you’ve perceived to have

Lost.

Defeat clings to

Your outfit--Mispronouncing

The words you’ve

Chosen to respell.

But who determines the orthography?

You’re not wrong to

Speall the word

Differantley.

You are simply

And utterly

Creating

And recreating

The hand of change.

Reflection

I caught you

Staring

At your reflection.

You were looking

At me

Looking at you

Unaware

That I was looking

At you

Looking at yourself.

You ponder intently

Studying the

Circular frame

Of your face.

Your pace slows

And your feet

Turn toward the direction

Of the window.

Your body sways

Like an empty swing.

From the abrupt stop

And change in momentum.

As if you were the wind

Rapidly choosing a new path.

And just as quickly

As you stop.

You begin again,

Altering the direction

You deliberately chose

As if to silently say—

I caught you

Staring

At me

Staring at my reflection.

I was looking

At myself

Unaware

That you were

Looking at me.

And I don’t want

You to see

My soul—as if

You know something—

Something I don’t.

And because I saw

Her staring at herself

Unknowing that she

Was staring at me,

I had something

She didn’t know

Could be hers—

Surprise.

Voice of the Homeless Man

Dressed in tattered, long

dark layers,

Face and hands,

Stained with

The dirt and distain

Of the earth.

Glowing, blinking

The pedestrian light

Sends him into the crosswalk.

I watch him carefully.

My gaze

Following each step and movement.

A Safeway shopping cart

Filled with buckets

And bags

Weathered from exposure

Becomes a prop for his elbows.

Without a forethought,

He scoots and shuffles the

Filled cart across the intersection.

As if to ignore,

The path set

Underneath the rubber soles

Of his mangled shoes,

He glares at what rests

Between his hands.

A note pad

Welcomes him

Holding his attention.

Black ink stains the page

A pen is griped between

His thumb and fingers

Each word written becomes

More powerful and thought-provoking

With each step.

The props before him

Serve as a catalyst

For hope, for faith

Changing the complicated

Into strict simplicity.

He writes

To create a voice.

A voice that was heard

From behind the wheel of a car.

Listening to each word

As if he was speaking

Directly into my soul.

He writes

To create purpose

For nobody

But himself.