The Red Shoe

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A little red shoe
Is the gateway
To the world
Full of dreams for you

It lies in innocence
Deep in the garden
Of my blooming daffodils
Awaiting your remembrance

A swing set sways
Blown by the wind
Wishing for your company
On this winter’s day

Awaiting your tiny hands
That held on to the chains
And with each rise
Imagined unknown mysterious lands

A lovely dressed up doll
Sits alone at your tea party
She misses the hugs
That kept away the night’s cold

She awaits mundane conversations
Your fairy tale concerns
The view from the dollhouse now:
Everyday is a dark revelation

Perched on my window sill
My cold dark mind
Flutters like that bee
Buzzing around my daffodils

They miss your touch so tender
Their beauty belying the truth
They bloom from the love
Seeping through from six feet under….

Sepulcher

Standing atop the hill
Where she fell
Where her beauty and her soul
In the sunlight do dwell

It is here that I walk
Alone until its dark
Then I lose myself
And my mind falls apart

Did they take her
Up this clumsy way
In a lonesome hearse
On a cold winter day

Or did they let her headless
Lump rot, in the sun
And then build a sepulcher
And call her “the one”

I wonder what that angel thought
The one whose smile is etched in stone
Deep down she might have cried
For the girl who died alone

These walls grim at my touch
Behind the dirt and grime
Tell a tale of a beauty
That stood the test of time

She was a thought
A story to the empty hearts
A few worthy words
Painted into someone’s art

One day she fell in love
With the mirrored reflection
Of her own beauty
And its flawed perfection

When I now look upon
The same silver screen
It simply shines the mighty road
And sees right through me

That life that went away
Silently in a guillotine
It still lurks around here
Floating on the night breeze

Today she lies
A pile of broken bones
Among friends and foes
Buried under the same stone

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***

I walk down the path
Passing by each goodbye
Walking among the hearts I broke
and those who made me cry

I walk the empty roads
Till dusk beckons me home
I look around at the last of light
Back into my sepulcher I go….

Her shadow

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I was born as an afterthought
A shadow of her truth
I was never surprised
That I wasn’t their God’s perfect muse

I was a plan B
A wilful addition
Aren’t we all?
We ,the secondary volitions…

I often wonder
Would I have been different
If she’d have stepped in after me
Like her, would I have been as benevolent

In sharing their love
Like a share of the pie
Would I have done the same?
If she teared up would I have cried?

Would I have felt then
What I feel now
Would I have thought myself
A useless tug along tow?

But it hits me
Uselessness is a disease
It has nothing to do with her
My mind goes where it pleases

And it pleases to think me
Unnecessary!
I’m masochistic that way
Without her as my blissfully ignorant glee

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Sigh. Smile. Reminisce.
The thought awakens real slow
In this empty world
I’d rather be her shadow
Than go it alone
Or grant her my own

An angel

A hooded lie
these endless skies tell
an innocent surprise
where my angels dwell

They hover and fly
looking down at us
little do they know our faiths rely
on their wings of dust

At length it comes
a distant shadow of a dream
it wakes you up and breaks you down
until you hear yourself scream

A written word is louder
than a spoken thought
an unsaid feeling stronger still
Am I the victim of the faith I sought?

I don the role of the angel
only to have my wings cut down
reality is fortunately stranger
than my pen’s fictional sound