August Rain

Today there is only that incessant drizzle
Humming like a pain you've learned to live with.
Nothing lives or moves in all that gray
That seems as infinite and victorious as failure.
Others would surely brave the miniscule drops
Sharp like needles that prick in a thousand places.
You can only stay inside unmoving and unmoved
Like a patient who knows too acutely and waits.
On a day like this the dance of your soul ceased
As though all the music of the world faded.
You shrivelled into what you are: stoic and gray
Now staring out the window forgetful of better days.

Untitled 2

"You had me when our eyes met and you simply said hello
And we just knew it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship
You even told me eventually that I did complete you
And I declared that you make me want to become a better man
Now all we've got is a failure to communicate
And I never know anymore really if you talkin' to me
So you said you're mad as hell, you're not gonna take it anymore
And I began saying to no one in particular, Houston, we have a problem
We've both felt for a while now that we're not in Kansas anymore
And I wouldn't want to be in a club that'll have me for a member either
Now you're gone I so want to say, frankly, I don't give a damn
And console myself with the thought that we'll always have Paris
But the fact of the matter is I couldn't handle the truth
And while love remains I can no longer force my twisted soul into your life
So now I only say hello to my little friends at the bar
And I've learned that there ain't no truth, all there is is bullshit
One cannot always depend on the kindness of strangers
And pardon my vulgarity here, I just can't snap out of it
For without my precious, all I see are dead people"

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Philosophers have argued incessantly
whether a tree that falls in the forest
that nobody hears makes a sound.
My mind's arms are not large enough
to embrace such anodyne puzzles.
But sometimes I silently wonder too
if the words that pour out of me
like weighty drops of blue rain
from sad elephantish clouds
move and make any sound as they fall
into the green growing spaces of your absence.
These words that articulate only poorly
that mix of the hues of  my crimson heart
echo in my head as they escape my mouth,
and as I absentmindedly address them to you.
I don't know, I don't know
if they are like trained pigeons
that faithfully find their home.
Maybe they're more like a stray red balloon
or the weeping white wind,
or violet amnesiac ghosts,
or the prayers of a dark soul.
All of them nobody's.
Wandering about without reason.
Irredeemably lost to the world.