death inside creeps

hovering at the closed door

until beckoned

death, silent, inside creeps

the cold breath

across the warm face 

lips part and slacken

the tongue lolls

the eyes turn

and motion settles

and time keeps on

jeg.

2/18

heart

you know I loved you with all my heart

it was just that I didn’t have enough heart for you

jeg.

2/18

petty

I do not understand your petty god

he does not sound like a god

he sounds like an old man

weak and trembling in the night

afraid of losing the power he holds

i do not understand your petty god

why does he fear other gods

and forbids us their worship

weak and vain and not all powerful

careful to conceal a lack of power at all

jeg.

2/18

the man in the mirror

i see the man in the mirror

but i do not know what others see

an aging balding softening man

or some kind of evil to avoid

i used to not hate the mirror

but these day the less seen the better

i brush my hair in a reflection

my teeth in furtive glimpses

i am surrounded by framed photographs

but in only one of them is me

hidden in a corner of the bookshelf

a young man unaware of what is to come

jeg.

5/18

fire-fight

one minute i was the all-American

john wayne fighting machine

and the next i was lying helpless

on the ground crying for help

watching the blood run out of me

the darkness pulling closer

the light fading

a sacrifice on the altar of greed

jeg.

11/18

the hate savage

the hate savage lies within

its blind eyes hating all it cannot see

clouded white, unblinking and cold

waiting for the light to dim

in darkness the sighted and unsighted

exist equally.

the hate savage lies within

its deaf ears hating all it cannot hear

cauliflower cartilage, twisted and numb

waiting for the sound to dim

in silence the heard and unheard

exist equally.

the hate savage lies within

its mute tongue hating all it cannot say

tar blackened, bitten and bloodied

waiting for the words to dim

in gasps the spoken and unspoken

exist equally.

the hate savage lies within

its anosmic nose hating all it cannot smell

flattened, congested and running

waiting for the smells to dim

in miasma the scented and unscented

exist equally.

the hate savage lies within

its numb fingers hating all it cannot touch

calloused, gnarled and broken

waiting for the touch to dim

insensate the feeling and unfeeling

exist equally.

11/16

jeg

Thanksgiving

The Thanksgivings continue to add up

and my heart is no longer quite broken.

It is oddly lumpy and scarred and battered

and has lost the ability to mourn and wail

but it is definitely of one piece.

Every year a bit is gained a bit is lost

and I ignore the consequences of this.

It is a part of aging a part of life and of dying

that goes on until it doesn’t

until I am no longer aware of the sequence.

A memory here a recollection there

like relics to be prayed over and mulled.

I have collected all I can collect

that collection is now part of the background

and collects dust in place of tears.

Except every now and then a solitary spark

ignites the fire to flames once again.

These fires threaten to engulf and overwhelm

they crackle and spread from the center

to my mind to my heart to my soul.

Yet each time they start to burn and encroach 

upon some unscarred ground they dampen down.

A lack of fuel a lack of oxygen a lack of heat

saves me once again from the memories

banked and dulled amongst the ashes.

Thanksgiving is a wind barely stirring the embers

though there are other days I dread and avoid.

I seek to pour water on the smoldering

I need to quench the center of the fire

that welds my lump of a heart together.

11/24/16

jeg