Tear for a Song

There once was a man whose fingers were stained
With anger and hatred and dark in his veins
He couldn’t quite keep his good will at the reins
And happy was subtle as breathing

Knowing the burdens and what was at stake
He hid in the shadows for everyone’s sake
Not pausing to ponder, ’cause what’s a mistake?
A tissue for people left grieving

He ran away, thought he could build a new face
And find a new name in an uncertain place
Hoping he’d disappear without a trace
Fallen alone with eyes beaming

Always afraid that he’d lose his control
He kept to the quiet and wrapped up his soul
But breaking reflections can take quite a toll
More than most others are seeing

The outcome, he should have seen from the start
As even the best masks will shatter apart
At the touch of some pity from a few bleeding hearts
He knew it was time for the leaving

Soon he would find it was too late for that
As some nights he’d jump at the drop of a hat
And some days he’d wonder just where he was at
What all this contempt was achieving

All the while fighting the feel from the past:
A girl in the rain even now unsurpassed
Can emotion beat out his will at the last?
I’m not sure whom to believe in.

But there is no reason for thinking that deft
His image of her is just all that is left
Or ever appeared of this imagined theft
Distractions he can’t help conceiving

It’s funny how quiet our secrets can keep
When they’re shaking, all torn up, and near half-asleep
The price of revealing can be rather steep
But I’m tired of all this deceiving

I won’t say that it’s right, who can say that it’s wrong?
Regretting’s just trading a tear for a song
I’ve got worries much worse than: but will it last long?
And they’re much better uses for dreaming

Fires That Burn

I like to walk as the rain falls by
I’ve said this many times before
To family, friends, the darkening sky
My hallway and bedroom door

It gives me time to reflect on things
As I wade through the raindrops sleek
They hit me like thousands of tiny stings
As they slide down along my cheek

And I’ve found that this is parallel
To the words that I pen out at night
How I shape them into the stories I tell
When the candlelight flickers just right

For these are reflections of what I can find
In my head: what I feel is here
But like all mirrors, please keep in mind
Things are different than they appear

These lines, they are written in marker
But they aren’t written permanently
As sometimes a sunset seems darker
Than it can ever really be

It might appear that my words are the truth
But truth can be relative
It makes something more than the sum of my youth
But it’s not more than I can give

I’m not actually beaten with blinding stress
I don’t just stand there filled up with dread
True, these words don’t turn off the darkness
They turn on a light instead

And for the ones left wondering, please learn
This is life; I can take the hit
These lines are just the fires that burn
And the ones that were never lit

If it needs to be told, I’ll tell it flat
There is no shame or sorrow in that

Provenance

Awakening to darkened dreams
In oceans far away
Underneath a current stream
Without a word to say

Alone, no hint of musical score
To brighten or dampen mood
I’m not sure what I’m looking for
But a figment of attitude

That’s not to say imaginary
Though not exactly real
The differences make me weary
And keep me free from zeal

I treat all visions like misty clouds
Something a dreamer holds dear
Give them a shape, a purpose out loud
Hanging out wishes sincere

But that is not reality
A cut from which lies have bled
The truth is more than I can see
And knowing that strikes me near dead

And yet I keep looking for spots of mist
To grasp onto till dawn
Detatch myself should symptoms persist
And sprinkle them over the lawn

Not knowing my image’s accuracy
Whether bullseye or over par
Drives me to thinking erratically
Creating brand new scars

It breaks me down and cuts me in two
Making me lose the provenance
Which is fake and which is true?
It drives me into a trance

Just to stay awake, to stay alive
Should I lose myself in the end
Then I lose rhythm and sense of rhyme
The power to comprehend

They found me, nothing but hamstrings and fists
And they jigsawed me up with glue
Return again should symptoms persist
What’s fake and what is true?