Email Poem

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Poem

If pain is felt 
like a windstorm, strength 
is shades of calm in between
as the years melt

off and slide, when it's understood
how good it gets when we stop 
trying to make it good.

I know what it is,
how to find it. The Real...
I let it in and out like breathing,
palms facing the clouds.
I'm a lover who cheats,
a giver who wants it all, loud music,
bruised knees...
The darkest parts
of love and war and hate,
sunny skies and peace.
I think of what god would be
if he IS,

though he needn't look for me
to save me from fear,
or resurrect me from death.
I'll forget me.

I'm not killing myself
slowly, by worrying at the how,
when and why.
Why are we here? 
Maybe we've fooled ourselves-

hammering apart that two-sided coin,
as if it were possible.
Maybe I've come undone

flirting wildly with untamed edges, 
the crack in the sidewalk 
beneath the ladder,
practicing witchcraft under the bridge

they said was full of ghosts.
But circles may appear
to us like squares,
and could we know?

Pain and pleasure? Together,
they mean something. Apart, 
there’d be no shadow. A face
with no reflection in the mirror.

We see by comparison in this wild wild place,
full of a pats on the back,
kicks to the face. 

But the world's not boring, I've seen
what pulls harder
than even the good,
(all of them)
where the wild things move
in motions so fast and strange,

all we can do
is stare into the face of the Sun,
eyes burning,
and call it beautiful.

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