Thinkers,
decimated by boredom,
depression,
wonder where the
'something more'
is.
Pearly gates not just out of reach,
but out of sight,
even out of mind,
for many.
A pressure dances across my forehead,
pounces around my numb ears,
and boots me in between the eyes.
There will be no relief for the saints
sinners
or the dead.
An odd outsider sits
eyes glazed by vacant thoughts
distant memories that feel forced
by the devastation of loneliness.
The concept of love has broken
busted up,
an abandoned van in the middle
of a back-water, forgotten forest
rust bleeds and mixes with oils
gases, and old love once held
for a now desolate object.
A symposium of twisted thoughts
form an orchestra of chaos and pain,
as formidable as good intentions,
and desperate as drowned hope.
The bill is paid,
the laughs are had,
the cold night wraps itself
around my restaurant-warm face,
begging to be embraced just like the rest of us.
A familiar love claws to the surface
long thought buried
but missed.
My true mistress of old
maybe will become
new again.
I've never loved
as I loved
sadness.
There is something pure
in the blue flame
of sorrow.
My first instinct was to run,
remember the happy,
the smiling cheer,
but it is false.
A big storm approaches,
held off and forgotten
for many years,
but not lost
at sea.
One can not run from who they are,
as hideous as the reality is.
Putting on sheep's clothing
never hides a wolf for long.
Andy Veilleux 