Another day

Another poem

Another day

Another way to say

I am here

I am living and loving

Breathing and bright

Here i am.

When a man is self-pitying

He wants to kill himself

When a man hates

He wants to kill others

And when he is afraid

He wants to do both

But a man is simple in the end

Bread, cheese and wine

And someone to share these with

Make him docile as a cat sleeping in the sun

But he will scratch the eyes out of anyone

Who reaches in to take these away

This is why

You should never put him

In charge of anything.

Sometimes, my muse

Is a fat old dead man

Who stands in my doorway

Backlit by the morning sun

Yelling at me

“Your writing sucks and you’re pathetic the way you can’t let go and how you lead with your heart instead of your fists, you should just fall to ash and blow away on the east winds. “

And i know these things

So I can ignore the bastard

And go back to my bad poetry

In obscurity

In the great and vast absence

The deep and the dark emptiness

Something gathers to itself

And in time it ignites

And in time it burns bright

A new sun in the nothingness

Born of the need to fill a void

The beginning of life

A day brings many things

Or nothing at all

This day brings warmth

Amidst the bitter cold

It brings life

In the face of death

What a thing

A day may bring

When the sun rises

And tears away the dark

A day that could be anything

Or nothing at all

So why not food

And family

Why not games

And heart felt revelry

We forget too often

That joy chased

Is many times joy caught

Joy embraced and held onto

This can be the product of a day

Where does one find silence

In the midst of crowding words?

One must look to the spaces

Between the letters

Between the lines

And in the margins all around;

It is here that possibility is born

All the greatest things like hope

Rise up from the nothingness

And seek life and love

From absence

Because it yearns to be filled.

The second day

Is invisible to most

A hidden day

A forgotten day

In the calendar

But for now

It is sunny

It is cold

And life waits

To burst ball

Into the world

Sometimes small poems

That say little

Are the best of all.