Poem: Rehab Again

"Oh you're in rehab again..."
They say with sadness is their eyes.
Pitying my inability to live
a life like theirs,
wishing with good hearts
that I could be "average."

Although I feel a vague sort of
painful shame
at the fact,
I'm also not sure
that I have anything
to be ashamed of.

How does one quantify
the worth of a life?
Would I have been happier,
or even able,
to have lived a planned life,
with college and marriage and kids?

I think not.

It seems I am meant for this life,
for reasons yet unclear to me.
Who could count the good that I do
simply by hanging around?
A smile, a wink, a kind word;
These are of infinite value.

There is no profit
in wishing for impossibility.
Better love my life as it is
and leave the comparrison
to others.

Poem: The Value of Friendship

What friends are friends?
I cannot know.
Those that you make in prison
are not
on the outside.
Those you make while drunk
are not
while sober.
Those you make while rich
are not
while poor.
I'm scared the sad fact is that
when it comes down to it;
All friends are a convenience
of the moment.
Scared I say
because I have always prayed
thought
and felt
that it was otherwise.

I remember finding my father's coin jar
as a child
in his closet
with my best friend at my side.
I split the coins with him
fifty-fifty
it seemed only fair.
My father was very upset.
I couldn't understand why.
We were rich
and my best friend was poor;
to me the money meant nothing
our friendship everything.
Years later he stole from me.
For him the money was important.

As I age my
unbridled love
and naivete
has burned me
more than once.
My dearest wish is that
everyone loved
as deep and true as I.

But they don't.
They wont.
They can't.

The only one's who have come close
are the destitute
and the homosexual.
Perhaps because they know
what it is like
to be truly alone.

This may be the reason
for coupling,
a lover,
a marriage even.
We all want to trust someone
totally,
sharing everything we have.
But friends cannot be trusted
without the bonding power of sex
to keep them in love.

There are good people, yes.
There is compassion,
charity,
selflessness,
and help.

But all of it is fleeting
and then it's
just me,
and God,
again.

Poem: Younger

I meet you and you're wonderful.
I could say more, but wont.
Impressive and smart,
pretty and young:
Many things
which I hold dear.
You shine in my mind
for hours after.
"Unhealthy," I wonder?
But put it aside.
Because
I can use
the distraction.
Before too long
I begin to imagine
a kiss, a walk, with you.
Catching myself, I stop
and I wonder;
"Why not just be friends?"
Is there something
depraved
in my active libido?
Does it stop me
or you
from excelling?
I cannot know,
but at least I'm on guard,
and I'll take it all
moment to moment.

Poem: Questions

Where are you now, my dear?
Do you still feel for me?

Your absence makes me ache.
It always did.
But then I was far away.

Did you let me go forever
when I left?

I wouldn't blame you.

Are you afraid of risking the pain of departure
again?
Is this all in my mind?
Am I imagining you now
as someone you never were?
Maybe I am just being selfish,
thinking only of myself?

I do not want to harm you again.

Do you think of me,
as deeply,
as often,
as I do you?

For your sake
I hope not.

Poem, I Have Tried

I have tried my best to smile
at those who only frown.

I have tried to soar the heavens
from deep within the ground.

I have tried to turn my life of lead
into the grace of gold.

I have spent the last of my young hopes
and now I'm not

But old.

Poem, Better Find Some Joy

I'll have to find some joy
in something
better find it soon.
To keep on living
in this vein
will turn me to a loon.

Anger, pain, and sweet remorse
fill me day to day.
The only goodness that I know
is writing down my say.

And though noone may ever read this,
still it helps me some.
For with my pen
I feel much stronger,
better than a gun.

Poem, Stuck

Sex isn't sexy any more,
I've lost my taste for booze.
Pot no longer appeals to me,
What else can I loose.

My back is getting worse
these days
I smoke two packs a day
Leavings not an option
and so
I'm forced
to stay.

The student loans will be owed soon
I'm living in a shelter
It seems to me
my whole damn life
is always
Helter skelter.

At least I can read,
at least I can write,
and sometimes
carry a tune.
And no matter
what the wait
at least
I'll be
dead soon.

I see now why
the old don't smile
with death and pain
ingrained.

I don't know how
the other's live
with killing
their own brain.