Lift me up and throw me down

Grab my hands and spin me ‘round

Hold me tight and crack a smile

Exchange rings and walk down the aisle

Let’s go far away together

Share dark secrets and talk about weather

Raise a child or maybe three

Live long and die,  our arms clasped under a tree

Hold on -

I went a little fast-

Let’s rewind and add the scars-

Lock me up and laugh at my cries

Grab my hands and spin your lies

Hold you tight and crack your bones

Exchange rings and become drones

You go far away to meet your lover

I meet your cousin Amy in the shower

Our children grow up in a broken home

Somehow we die together, but alone

Sand grains are falling through her fingers

She misses the days and the autumn that lingers

The grains brush her skin as her memories do

A child of two as a child of forty two

The moments that passed through her hands are here

Every little particle is her dear

The parent she never called on the phone

The sadness of being the only one at home

The job eating at her from the inside

The future that once looked so bright

The tormenting moments of shame

The children that never came

The grains never stop and her hand never locks

They fall to the ground for others to pass

Her days are not numbered but nevertheless

She stands like a statue given up to rest

The wind lifts her scarf and swings it around

Like a white flag giving up to be bound

Nothing else to do but to drown herself in it

Swallow the sand like she swallowed those tears.

It begins with a feeling,

No one else at home,

windows are wide open,

A leisurely breeze coming through,

five thirty in the warm afternoon.

The sun is heavy and slow, as it sets on the town,

Men in  linen trousers are out on porches,

Lazily sipping white wine.

Best friends tell long stories on their way to the gorge,

He snatches a knife In a passionate surge!

The town bell slowly rings,` sailing its sound,

The poet is on a park bench,

Relaxingly writing a sonnet.

Six o’clock is as far away as the end of the world,

Time glides like honey and everything slows …

Saturday afternoon in August, the most wonderful hours,

The wheat is golden, the flour abundant.

She puts up her hands, a shield made of silk

The knife crashes with sparks and cuts through it quick!

The town feels a stir in the wind,

A small perturbation ,

The sheriff takes eyes off his book,

And looks in a vague direction.

No, nothing’s wrong, he decides,

The moment too perfect for desperate cries.

When you look in a mirror you observe a myriad of things

Your makeup ran, your hair is wet

Your middle tooth is slightly crooked so you fret

A mole here a scratch there

No perfection in this air.

But should you gaze in long enough

And stare right through and past the fluff

There is a chance that you will see

The one who you would like to be

The one that made it, didn’t lose

Kept up his grades, had a straight tooth

Was beautiful and strong

And was dating your dream song.

When you see that person in the mirror

With all that on your shoulders  to consider

You will likely cry

Despair

Lie (to yourself)

(And perhaps  to others)

Shake in bed

And drink till the bottle smothers

Do not look in mirrors if this bothers.