(2014)
I have whispered your name into the air so many times it has become the breeze that blows
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
I awoke from a deep sleep and knew the reason was to write I love you
The road is long and winding like nothing you can imagine Too many off ramps to count but too few in hindsight
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
I thought I could drink you away but I had to stop being so drunk on you first
There seems to be a drought in my… but who knows if it is the cause or the result of the war raging within me
There is something to be said of a true friend One who will pull the knife from your back One who will stitch the wounds
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes
The pen must be mightier than the sword For there is nothing that will spill your guts faster than a bit of ink that says
I don’t remember any anesthesia after talking with you but I woke up stitched back
Hope in another form but no fewer letters and I’ve been hoping for these past eight years so I’ll just keep on
Everyone sees god in a different light but I was born without eyes
I’ve always been at the very least a little caught up on everything about you This idea of you
