Famous Last Words

There are some things we just won’t talk about,

It’s all in the last words

Of famous men

that’s what she would say

We are in the same room

But thousands of miles away

And what do we know

And how am I to know

The things you will never show

You’re always going away…

The papers say we won the war

But I feel as though

I lost her heart today

And all at once

I felt hollowed out

Just a lost soul

But I kept this mind

The things we’ll never know

The things you’ll never show

Can I blame you?

The blood stains the earth

The skies turn to overcast

And it’s all to shame

But one touch from her

Would end the pain

One word from her would

Send the rains

How could know?

I can’t read your mind?

We are worlds apart

I never thought I’d pack these bags

I never thought I’d be on this train

I never saw

The forecast for all the skies

There are some things

We just won’t talk about

And we spend our years

Thinking we are doing

Fine and we forget

We forget

How easy it is

To leave words unsaid

Worlds behind

with only our hearts

And

All our love

on the line

Simple Things

She dreams of little things

As she steps over the cracks in the street

And the whole wide world it seems

Is on the edge of a break down

This wet blanket of time

This overcast sky

It’s rotating now

I always whispered into the dark

It’s simple things

You take away with you

The notes on the napkin

The perfect slice of pie

And

There are certain shadows

That you just carry with you

As you go

The old man in line at the drug store

Remembers the Kennedy’s

I remember 9/11

Someone asked me what it was like

And I just looked at them

And I was sad

Because they don’t remember

The world before – the heaviness of now

MMBOP

Surge
The original animated Batman from the 90’s

But now that I’m older I think a lot about that man in line at the drug store

And I realized everyday for him must be heavy as well

And those who lived through Nixon

Or the man who told me about D-Day …

Being a teenager

The pain in his eyes

Asking me how you’re supposed to come back from that

And I remember the pain in peoples eyes after the Tornados …

We all carry darkness

And we all live in this same room

We just see it from different corners

Lit by the same light

Different points of view….

Carry the simple things

Take them with you

It’s ok to believe again

Like you once did

Create again

A little at a time

This is an old pain

Older than time

And even the stars are quilted with shadows

It just takes courage

Just one step at a time

That’s how the light is made

The moon Queen

They say, she left her heart open, in the rain…

Every Tuesday

She would pick her flowers

And write her songs

No one knows much about her

What she really thought

How she felt about things

They only remember her sadness and her tragedy

I like to think

I know what she felt,

Some nights

At 3am

I can hear her playing the piano

Its music fills the halls upstairs

Some nights

When the moon is full

And melancholy

You can see her window open

Her wide, deep, dark eyes

And her blue dress

Sometimes it’s white

But she’s only there for a minute

And then she’s gone

You might see her at the top of the stairs

Or entering someone’s room

Trying to find something she’s left behind

I’ve seen some of her paintings

Some of her sketches

And heard her songs

I think I know what it must have felt like

To be filled so full

And not know

How to express it

To feel so alone

Like an outsider

Maybe she’s still trying to work it out….

They say

You feel the fear

And the terror

If you see her face though

The pain of dying

The air turns cold

I don’t believe it

I think you see the emptiness inside of yourself

No one knows what really happened to her

Her letters

Still show up under my door

That’s when I find her paintings

Inside empty rooms

Sometimes they’re in the park

I’ve seen her walking

When the moon is full

And the fog is down,

I don’t know why she talks to me

Maybe it’s because we are both alone

Filled with things to say

And unsure of how to say them

Maybe it never goes away

Maybe it doesn’t ever let go,

Maybe we just keep on trying

Even after we’re gone….

I don’t know her name

I only call her the moon queen….

Ashes

The piano was more difficult to play now, certain chords would go missing….

The same with photographs. Some faces were familiar…others were blackened with ash and she didn’t know them…

Some days she felt like everything was good. She really had a hold on things.

Other days, she would be given a journal

And expected to write…

But the pages were burning

The words were missing…

The safest place was the window on those days.

To just sit and look outside….

She could remember some things…

But it was all the new faces that frightened her.

The new town….

Other days she would work on her next detective novel…

But she always felt, trapped,inside a burning house

And couldn’t shake the feeling,time was running out.

But then, she had felt like this since her early twenties.

Now she was…she was…

Letters to a Nurse #20

All of her hair, it’s always been red and her lips, they’ve always been red. Her temper, her passion, has always been red. Her fists have always been made.

And I’m lost, when she lets her hair down. When our eyes meet, it feels just like coming home. Touch for touch, a new star being born,

Meet me in the night, morning comes too early, we haven’t got time to wait, we can walk through the fire, I feel like I’m forgetting parts of you my lips need to touch.

Will another year pass? How many hours are in a day? Everything burns blue when she is away…and it rains every day.

Everything in this house burns red when she is near.

-regardingsamuel.com

Bleeding Ink #1,233

(image source unknown)

“Please keep writing. I like your penmanship and your poetry. Your words are beautiful.” She said.

She lived on the other side of the world. A place I had only heard of from people who had heard from someone who had heard…

Out here, we want to feel strongly about things that we borrowed.

Religions.

We like what they give us. But – we don’t live in their houses…

We’ve never seen their shadows or their demons. We seperated ourselves from them with a body of water. And declared them our own.

She was a writer

She wrote about her questions and how she watched classmates disappear. Never knowing if they were alive. Growing up surrounded by fighting and being told they had to choose. Between fighting or an education.

She wrote about love

And growing

I felt so entirely separated from these things…

Time has a way of slowing us down

Graying hair

And speeding up…

Someone said the world would be better without a Jew

And someone else was crying because they read an article saying Maya Angelou died today…

I didn’t have the heart to tell them, she passed away in Twenty Fourteen…

I was standing outside a grocery store. When a girl wearing a Dupatta walked out. And a man turned and said “what the?? I don’t want to get blown up.”

A few days later , I was talking to an older man when he saw a couple walk by. A white girl and a black man. He erupted. “That’s unnatural. The animal kingdom doesn’t even mix species. It’s a sin. And disgusting.”

Time passes

But

It was just yesterday

Wasn’t it…

We borrow things.

We make them our own.

Without understanding the depth of what we’ve taken.

“Keep Writing please. I love your words.”

She was muslim.

sometimes I look for her and wonder where she went

How she is

If she, herself, continued writing…

If she kept her faith

And if I even kept mine…

Letters to a Nurse 19

It’s light here

This space

We’ve made together

It’s light here

Our backs against the weather

what we have

We’ve made

Against the winter

Against the night

This space

Just for us….

Adulthood may be dark

The future of our discontent

But right here

At home

Right in the now

This moment

Today

the ingredients

For all our tomorrows

Quickly becoming yesterday

It’s light

With you

It’s always light

In mid November

Leaves on the ground

Overcast

gray sun

First frost

It’s warm

It’s light

It’s Home

-Regardingsamuel.com

Ethan Bethune