It’s just
the what
might’ve beens
that I
can’t shake
like gum
or toilet
paper stuck
to the
bottom of
my shoe
I just
didn’t see
and now
can’t reach
Category: Love
Cross
Hope is
a bitch
a crucifier
holding a
hammer and
a bucket
of nails
snickering and
gaily sneering
as she
pounds one
spike after
the next
and then
leaves me
to die
on the
cross of
my own
once wish
Night
Some toss dirt
into the hole
others sling mud
whilst others push
away and forget
believing they’re free
I put to
rest my past
tuck it in
tell it goodnight
as the door
closes behind me
I then weep
always staying strong
until the last
light is out
These
I will never
tire of mornings
such as these
when quiet quickly
hatches into cacophony
of footsteps and
percolators and percussions
of closing doors
and finally when
they’ve all gone
I can sit
cup in hand
brew in belly
and watch sun
I will never
tire of these
Tend
People tend
to focus
more on
what’s not
than what
is so
much in
fact that
what is
is forgotten
and never
to be
found again
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 