Where No Good Angel Would Go or What I Write When Nothing Comes To Mind

Somehow it all fell out-of-place
There was no instruction book as to how it should be put back
The greens now ran quietly next to the reds,
Then the reds with the blues and finally to the greens again
Put away for safe keeping
It can’t be said that it will be needed again
But, of course, for most it will
Try to put it out of the mind
For the reaction to this mess will have consequences
Possibly dire or all together bliss
Pleasing to anyone who might stumble upon it
But packed with as much danger and mistakes as one could ask for
Yet this seldom lasts
And with care and precision and time, it gets easier
Nothing here last that long
Just like the girl next to you with flaming hair
And the girl with the fire hair looked lost
So she threw up her arms and screamed out words never heard before
Ranging as far and wide as birds could fly
Sparking trembles and fear to all those within its reach
An exciting yet not entirely new idea
For such release is often a need as much as a want,
Which is justified on the presence of your time alone,
But which is not justified in those lost soul cries
To do what you will
But be warned that you will forever live with your choice
Think deep and hard
Peer through the layers and peel away the coverings which seem to make sense
Let it all rise to the surface, then let it boil over in pain
And an understanding will come quickly, followed by soothing peace of mind
Bringing you a smile which has traveled hundreds of miles
Along with answers to this mystery, which has finally been solved

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Nothingness Of Time

In the moments like these

Times melt away with the filth

With a need to be scrubbed

And scraped, of all the dirt

The skin hides the dank

The darkness, screaming to be set free

All the muscles in the world

Do nothing to aid

Hanging in stillness

Consumed by the stress

And semi-contracted

For an extended period of time

The eyes don’t see the way out

No light bright enough

All lights burning till blind

There are no sounds worth hearing

And a touch would be a savior

But this world has no saviors left

Not for you

Not for the radiated skin

And atrophied muscles

Not for the burnt out eyes

And no touch to save

No hand to grab

As the water rushes over the head

And you slowly sink

To the bottom of your soul

Yes, time takes a toll

A collection of all the good

But, time replaces as well

And leaves you, in return, with nothing

And nothing is huge

Nothing is heavy

Nothing hangs from your neck

And nothing is the weight

Which finally pulled you down

© Dicky J Loweman 2015