Suicidal and snowbound is no place to be
The wind howls ’round the eaves
And softly screams, traveling through
Rafters and beams -rambling among
Each and every crack of my little shack
Down comes the moon – when full she was supposed to be –
Once before she fell full on
Winter’s splendor and summer’s shame and now there is
Nothing- nothing remains…
Torment my ears but you cannot trouble my eyes – they
Hear your sad longing. They are bright
Enough to know that the whimper is just a spiteful guise.
Below that lopsided grin and dew stained eye
Are nothing but lies
Rich in torment and with a very
Rare hint of a ruse they offer a choice
Ever so thoughtfully but you are the
Lost soul who must choose
Will you say an extra prayer for me to whomever you chose?
How is it that whenever I speak to God – I know that somehow
Always, always my little piece of the sky is empty.
The knocking does me no good –
Doorbell unanswered, No number to take, No
One to leave my calling card with
Yet, tomorrow I’ll knock again, traipsing
Over the keep off the grass sign with an entire,
Utter lack of regard for
Someone else’s manicured lawn.
Each step an abomination on a perfect plot of land –
Each step a soft, lush, green reminder that spring will come again.
Keep Off The Grass
Melancholic Misanthrope: Enough Said - In Poetry & Prose 